Spike Multiplied
by Queen Boadicea
Summary: Spike is given chances to restore Sunnydale. Is he up to the challenge? This underwent considerable revision after the original posting.
1. Preface and Acknowledgements

**PREFACE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS******

_"I turned and fixedly looked on him: blond_

_He was, and beautiful, of noble mien;_

_But one eye-brow was cleft by a great wound._

_I disclaimed humbly ever to have seen_

_His person; then "Look on my breast," he said,_

_And showed me, above, a scar upon the skin."_ – Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy "Purgatorio"

_"Idle reader, you can believe without any oath of mine that I would wish this book, as the child of my brain, to be the most beautiful, the liveliest and the cleverest imaginable. But I have been unable to transgress the order of nature, by which like gives birth to like. And so, what could my sterile and ill-cultivated genius beget but the story of a lean, shriveled, whimsical child…?"_ – Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote

You can guess from the first quote that this story is about Spike. It is a tale of redemption, loss, frustration, woe, love, obsession, selfishness and colossal effort in the face of adversity. You can tell from the second that it's not going to be a work of great fiction. This story was written as a response to a challenge. You can read more about that in chapter one.

At this point I'd like to thank Dlgood, Gia, Adia, Dan Spector and a host of others whose names I've probably forgotten (do excuse me) who have lent me their support and censure in the past two years. I would like to tend a special thanks to Dr. Doom who will probably appreciate the influence he has had on me when he peruses this humble novella of mine.

And, finally, I would like to thank Joss Whedon and James Marsters, the former without whom this story could not have been possible and the latter without whom it would not have been necessary.

_"It's the song of a merryman, moping mum,_

_Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum,_

_Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb_

_As he sighed for the love of a ladye."_ – William Schwenk Gilbert, The Yeoman of the Guard, or The Merryman and His Maid

Queen Boadicea


	2. The Choice

Title: Spike Multiplied

Author: Queen Boadicea

Email: queenboadiceaoftheiceni@yahoo.com

Spoiler Warning: BtVS seasons one through seven

Disclaimer: This belongs to Joss Whedon and the usual gang of idi…uh, geniuses

Feedback: Do your worst—it can't compare to my worst ;)

A/N: This is being written for the National Novel Writing Month challenge. That's right: a 50,000-word-or- more novella written in one month. This isn't going to be good but it's going to be fast!

_"I turned my back on suffering,_

_but it shone through my chest_

_like light through melted wax._

_Puzzled I looked down_

_to see my breasts_

_glowing, felt an unnatural heat_

_struggle with my heart."_ – Susan Fantl Spivack, "I Turned My Back"

The energy streaming from the amulet around his neck was consuming him inside and out. He could feel it licking up his skin and bones, torching him alive. It was insane; consciousness should have fled ages ago. But he was still intensely aware of what was happening to him, locked in place like a statue while the smoldering flames reduced his body to ash. 

His wild laughter rang through the space in spite of the falling debris as he thumbed his nose as always at the invisible powers, at his fate. He had saved the world. More importantly, he had saved Buffy. Who gave a flying fart about destiny?

Suddenly he was falling from a great height and crash-landed on the floor. As his head smacked into the hard surface, he clutched his skull and ground out, "What the fuck!" What had just happened? He'd been dying; he was sure of that. That kind of pain only came before you bit the big one and he'd been certain that was his grand finale. If the magic pendant hadn't been enough to do him in, the way the cavern had been shaking and the roof collapsing should have finished the job. So why wasn't he dust and where was he?

Rolling onto his hands and knees, Spike glanced down at his body. He was whole and apparently unharmed. Brushing his hands down himself cautiously, he couldn't detect any wounds or injuries. He felt as good as he ever had. "Well, that's a plus at any rate."

He stood up and took stock of his surroundings. He was in a room along with whole host of other creatures. Some stared curiously at him; others were apparently too apathetic to pay any attention either to his appearance or the unconventional manner of his arrival.

He turned and surveyed the area, trying to take it all in. The chamber was huge, seeming to stretch upwards and outwards almost into infinity. The walls were a bland, inoffensive off white and loomed up into a vast overhead space that made him dizzy to contemplate it. The denizens of the room were literally without number, a wall-to-wall bewildering assortment of humans and non-humans, all perched on chairs, floating in the air or pacing the floor. Some of the species he recognized. A lot were foreign to him. "If this is the afterlife, I gotta say it's been really overrated," he muttered to himself.

One bluish creature with greenish spots mottling his skin and twelve horns arranged in a crownlike pattern on his head gave a series of unintelligible grunts and pointed one ragged claw to the wall behind him. He stared at the creature. "What's your bloody problem, mate?"

"He said you have to take a number." That explanation came from a meek-looking man in a lime green business suit seated three chairs away from Spike's position. He pointed in the same direction as Blue Boy.

Spike turned to look and noticed a dispenser attached to the wall. It looked like one of those things you saw in deli shops that gave out numbers to show your turn. He walked up to it and pulled out a ticket with an obscenely long number printed on it. Squinting at the tag, he looked up to the wilting pansy in the chair and waved the strip at him. "What's this supposed to be, then?"

"Um, well, that's your number. When it's called, you go up to one of the desks." 

Spike turned and saw glass-walled cubicles several rows ahead of him with what appeared to be an empty chair in front of each of them. As he peered in bafflement, a figure appeared in one seat, vaguely humanoid and female. She lifted her head and cried out, "NEXT!" followed by a string of numbers. At that point, a tiny, dwarf-like figure trotted up to her and presented its ticket.

"The monitor up there lets you know what number is up. It changes to the next number in sequence. Simple and effective, no?" The man beamed as if he himself were personally responsible for the system.

Spike looked at the monitor and saw the number flashing on it in bright numerals. His ticket was nowhere near that. The vampire threw his ticket on the floor, muttered, "Sod this," and strode up to the desk. Ignoring the dwarf, he planted his hands on the flat surface and leaned his face into the grilled speaker. "Are you the one in charge here?" he said to the female squatting behind the enclosed desk.

She gazed at him with a deceptively mild look from her three eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. It's not your turn. Please have a seat and wait for your number to come up."

"Yeah, well, I'm not much of one for waiting, luv. So why don't we forget about the midget and tell me where here is and what I'm doing here."

The woman's face didn't twitch by so much as a muscle. But suddenly Spike found himself in a cavern with gouts of flames shooting out of the ground. One fiery geyser took off his foot and he screamed, falling to the burning ground, clutching his ragged stump. 

The next moment he was back in the huge room, lying on the floor in front of the stall, and bawling his lungs out. The woman looked down on him from behind the safety of the enclosure and said with exaggerated patience, "I told you, SIR, you have to wait your turn. You can do it here or in the Flaming Pits of Agony and we can send you there as often as needed for you to learn your lesson. Your choice."

Spike glared up at her, loathing clear in every line of his face. He wanted nothing more than to smash through the partition separating them and rip her lungs out. But his recent brush with burning told him he'd better mind his manners. He staggered up and noticed that his foot was back on his leg. Stepping on it tentatively, he concluded that wherever he was, he had been reconstituted from his death in Sunnydale and they—whoever had brought him here—could do it whenever they wanted. Whether it was so he'd be fit for more punishment, he wasn't sure and he didn't intend to find out.

Flipping the triple-eyed woman behind the grill the bird, he sauntered back over to the business suit, snatched his number off the floor and seated himself. While he was there, he saw various other beings, for want of a better word, popping in and out of the other desks. They all called out numbers causing the monitor overhead to blink rapidly from one numeral to the next. He would still be a long time waiting, judging by the number on his ticket.

With nothing better to do, he decided on questioning the suit. On second glance, it turned out the guy wasn't really human. He had four ears instead of the usual complement of two and they wagged and fluttered faintly as if possessing a life of their own. He also seemed to possess more than the human complement of teeth, judging by the way his lips bulged over them. 

Spike shoved the little ponce roughly with his elbow and asked him, "So what the hell are we doing here, anyways? And where's here 'zackly?"

The man, thing, whatever it was, appeared to speak fairly serviceable English, although with a strange accent Spike couldn't place. "This is the Waiting Room. Those of us here are waiting to be sent to whatever comes next." 

Well, that was a lot of information that really didn't go anywhere. Spike scowled when nothing more was forthcoming and questioned the guy again. "The Waiting Room? You mean, like Purgatory or summat?"

Mr. Business Suit screwed up his brows as he tried to understand the word. "Oh, is that what they call it in your dimension? I seem to have heard that term before," the little man mused. "But there are so many creatures of different faiths, credos and beliefs coming through here, it's tough to keep track of all the different catchphrases. I just call it the Waiting Room and leave it at that."

Spike shifted on the uncomfortable seat. It was unyielding, hard and an industrial deadening gray like what you'd expect in an airplane waiting area or bus depot. Guess bureaucracies didn't really change much no matter where you were. "Yeah, whatever. You telling me this is where all the dead end up?"

"Um, not exactly. In most dimensions, the gods, powers, ruling deities or whatever you call them have their own setups for dealing with their departed. But sometimes you have somebody who really doesn't fit into any easy category of good or evil. The really thorny cases—like you and me—get sent here and then other people decide what happens to us."

"Thorny, eh? Guess I always was a bit of a rebel," Spike smirked. He peered sideways at the meek and mild specimen beside him. The putrid color of his clothes forbade looking at the bloke dead on. Spike wondered what world this being was from. You didn't see too many people from Earth wearing lime green business suits no matter what race they were. "So what are you in for, mate?"

The little man perked up as if pleased that somebody was interested enough to ask and his ears flapped with delight. "Oh, I went berserk after my wife and children died in a fire. I blamed the owner for not keeping the building codes up to spec. I'm afraid I rather lost my head and I started committing arson and torched several of the owner's other buildings before I was caught. I was sent in for psychiatric care and I became truly appalled at what I'd done. I discovered through some curious circumstances far too convoluted to get into here that I had a talent for sorcery and became a humble aide for powerful warriors in another dimension I was accidentally sucked into." He chuckled at a private joke. "At least I _thought_ it was an accident at the time. You see, these powers—"

Spike cut him off before he could continue. "Yeah, that's fascinating in a way that's not." If he didn't stop this guy right now, the little twit would jaw his bloody ear off. The man was either a natural chatterbox or just starved for attention. "So the gist of it was, you did some good to make up for the evil you'd done and now you're here to get your final reward."

The little man stared at him as if Spike had grown two heads and a set of horns. "Reward? Oh, dear me, no. Did I give you the impression I was being compensated? I killed hundreds of people. No amount of do-gooding really makes up for that. I'm certainly not going to get a reward just because _I_ think I deserve one. Redemption doesn't work that way." He leaned towards Spike and lowered his voice as if afraid of being overheard. "Just between you and me, even though I've been here a tedious length of time, I'm not particularly eager to see what they've got in store for me. With my record, chances are it's going to be rather unpleasant."

Spike felt a chill as he heard those words. No redemption even when you tried to do good? What was the damned point then? "You mean you might get punished for all those lives you took? Even though you were off your nut at the time?"

Four Ears nodded sadly, ear flapping accompanying the motion. "I'm afraid so. I was never really punished for that, you see. I was just caught, sentenced to mental care and then sucked into an alien dimension to act as a force for good. True, my life was then spent saving people and my death was prolonged, painful and extremely gruesome. But that doesn't balance the scales as far as they…" he waved his hands upward in a vague way to indicate mysterious, unseen others "…are concerned." 

He sighed, a wet, whistling sound as if water had collected in his lungs. "No, I'm afraid I have a lengthy and rough row to hoe. I may be sent to any dimension to continue serving the greater good or I might simply wind up in any one of a number of disagreeable hellish worlds in eternal penance."

Icy slivers of panic went down Spike's spine as the implications of these statements hit him. Four Ears had killed hundreds of people. _He'd_ killed literally hundreds of thousands in his 120-odd year career and that didn't even take into account the various other atrocities he'd committed throughout his illustrious career as a fearsome member of the undead and part of Angelus's crew. What if saving the world as he'd done didn't count as enough to redeem himself? He might spend an eternity being torched alive or some other equally grisly punishment. He remembered the demons he'd had to fight in that cave in Africa and his recent brush with burning dismemberment and his stomach roiled. He had to get out of here and pronto.

He said nothing of his apprehension to the chatty bloke beside him. For all he knew, this guy could be some sort of informant for whoever was running this place. Casually he asked, "Hey, mate. Where's the loo?"

The little man blinked and his face went blank as if the question had no meaning. "The what?"

"The loo. The john. The WC. You know, the damn facilities. I have to go flush myself out, if you catch my drift."

Again Spike was favored with an uncomprehending look. "No, you don't. You couldn't possibly."

"Hey, it's my bowels, mate, not yours. And, if I say I've got to go, I've got to go. Unless you want me to piss myself right here," he threatened.

The little man looked him up and down. Then he began making a high-pitched keening sound that set the vampire's teeth on edge. It took a moment for Spike to realize the bloke was laughing at him. "Eeeeeeeeeee! Oh, that's a good one! I've been here a long time and have heard a lot of jokes but it's really refreshing to be with a true comic!" He cut loose with another shrill peal of laughter.

"What's so flippin' hilarious, you berk?" Spike growled. He was this close to ripping this bloke's ears off and using them as napkins.

Mr. Business Suit stopped laughing to wipe his eyes. "You're dead. As in stiff, expired, pushing up phloxes, waving to the Big Guy, kissing the Goddess…"

Spike snapped, "Right. I get that. I'm a bleedin' extinct parrot. I still don't see what the funny is."

The man paused and his eyes widened as he realized Spike hadn't been joking. "You really don't get it, do you? There are no facilities here because no one needs them. You don't need to go, as you put it. You don't really need to do anything. You don't need to eat, sleep, drink, air out your mouth sacs, crack your kneecaps or stretch your legs. That's a good thing, too. You wouldn't want to be in the…loo when your number comes up, would you? Nope, you're a spirit and whatever pains and needs afflicted your flesh are all gone."

That didn't make any sense. "But, a moment ago, I was being charred alive in the Flaming Bog of Eternal Stench. It took my foot clean off. That hurt like hell, mate, and don't try to tell me different."

"Well, of course! What's the point of damnation if you can't experience torture and suffering? If you're shunted out of the Waiting Room to any other kind of dimension, you'll be given a physical body that will experience pain and probably plenty of it if you're a really vicious creature at heart. But, while you're here, there's no sensation at all. That's why humor is really appreciated. Laughter is one of the few things you can actually experience. Most creatures here are rather lacking in a sense of humor. Stay here too long and the urge for laughter goes right out of you." Four Ear's mouth stretched and all his teeth flashed as if to show his appreciation of Spike's unintended joke.

"Or maybe you're going insane, mate? You think of that? 'Cause you've got to be pretty daft to think jokes about urine are funny," Spike jeered.

The man blinked again and appeared to consider the statement soberly. "Yes, that could be it. Insanity is very much a possibility if you're here too long." Then he grinned again. "Still, urine jokes can be very amusing if told right." 

Spike scowled and he bared his fangs in return. "Well, you won't be laughing if you're licking up a puddle of my piss," he threatened.

The ponce in the suit shrugged. "Okay. Try pissing yourself, as you said earlier. See what, if anything, comes out."

Spike concentrated. After a moment, he realized nothing was happening. Checking himself internally, he realized the suit was right; since he'd gotten here, he hadn't felt hungry, tired or any physical sensation other than the pain of losing his foot. It was as if his carcass was simply that—dead meat he was hauling around with no accompanying feeling. 

The implications were deeply troubling. It meant there'd be nothing to take his mind off the waiting. No trips to the loo, no food breaks, no naps…nothing but an endless stretch of waiting with pathetic berks like Chuckles beside him for company. That was an even worse prospect than the pit of burning. He stood a good chance of going insane from boredom. He patted his pockets and then went rooting around them in a panic. They were completely empty. Shit. He didn't even have any fags.

He licked his lips as the terror welled up. Then he forcibly pushed it back down inside him. He was William the Bloody and he wasn't afraid of anything. He'd never been afraid of Angelus though the ponce would often beat him senseless. He hadn't been scared of the Master, Buffy or Glory, even when the bitch had tortured him. He'd been right there at the center of the Hellmouth in the worst battle of his existence. He hadn't flinched from his duty or removed that sodding amulet when the pain was ripping him to pieces. What was a little waiting compared to all that?

The inner pep talk served to bolster his flagging spirits. "Right then." He settled himself in the chair and looked at the guy beside him. "Want to play 20 Questions?"

He didn't know how much time had elapsed since he'd come to this wretched hole between universes. He'd lost track of the number of people who'd come and gone. Business Suit had long since vanished and been replaced by a less-than-pleasant Mowpertyl demon who'd gotten into a vicious fight with the vampire before disappearing. When the demon had reappeared, there had been missing chunks from his flesh before they'd magically healed themselves. After that he'd been properly subdued and had kept far away from the vampire. Too bad; the fight had actually been rather entertaining and had helped to relieve the crushing boredom—for awhile, anyways.

But such diversions were far and few between. Most of the creatures that came and went were too tired, worn-out, dispirited or disoriented from their sojourns in whatever worlds they came from to pay him or each other much attention. 

There weren't any humans around either. Humans he thought were from Earth always turned out to be different species altogether. Most couldn't speak any language he understood. He actually found himself missing Four Ears; at least he'd had some type of conversational skill.

He tried to wrench up the chairs from the floor in order to destroy them but they appeared to be welded or bolted to the surface. He couldn't so much as budge them or dent them. He tried battering them with his fists but there wasn't even any accompanying pain. He was rapidly losing it from the tedium and he remembered the business suit's warning about insanity. 

_"It is a part of damnation to experience desires that we can no longer gratify."_ – Thomas Stearns Eliot, "The Sacred Wood: Dante"

The passage of things like hours and days ceased to have any meaning so he found himself passing the time by reminiscing about Buffy. He went over every sigh, word, comment, quip, glance, blow and touch she'd ever given him. Funny thing was, he couldn't get excited over any of the memories. Oh, he got the feelings, all right; no problems there. He just couldn't get an erection or any kind of excitement going below the waist. He wanted to beat off but there was no privacy in this place and no way of going elsewhere. 

Finally he got fed up with it and decided to stroke himself anyway. What did he care what these creatures thought? The other beings seemed completely indifferent to his actions so, after a little hesitation, he went to it with his customary gusto. No dice. Nothing happened even when he pawed himself like a sex maniac. His member remained a limp and useless piece of wilted flesh in his hand. He simply couldn't get any action going. Then he understood the full extent of what Four Ears had told him and shivered in terror. This place may not have been Purgatory but it really _was_ a kind of hell.

And there was evidently no way of escaping it before his turn. He'd seen whirlpools open for the other applicants when their numbers came up…doors or portals, he wasn't sure which. He'd taken a chance and darted at one of them only to have it snap shut in his face and hurl him across the room into the wall. That had engendered sniggers from quite a lot of people as well as a reprimand and warning from the three-eyed bint. 

"You're not going to get out before your turn so you might as well relax. Besides, you really wouldn't want to go to some of those places. They're not—compatible to one of your kind," she told him primly. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" He didn't really care about the answer; getting her to talk was just another way of relieving the crushing monotony. He would have dearly loved to needle and prove a nuisance to her the way he had to the librarian when he'd been staying at his house. But when she wasn't needed, the woman simply disappeared like all the others and he was left with the other losers in this godforsaken hellhole.

"A lot of those dimensions would be pretty rough on a vampire. No blood—nothing _you_ could drink, anyway—perpetual sunlight or water worlds with no land. That sort of thing. Bye now!"

"Wait! What about—?" Sod it. Too late. She'd disappeared again and he was stuck with people who didn't care to talk to him. He'd wanted to know about Earth, his world. Was there any chance he could get back there? Would Buffy still be alive if he did? Just how long had he been gone?

Finally, after an eternity of waiting, his number came up. The bint called him up to the desk and he tried to restrain himself from any unmanly show of haste as he swaggered to the desk. "About bloody time. So where'm I headed?"

She looked down at a monitor behind the partition without bothering to meet his eyes. "You take this disk to room 246132B. You're going to see Xorkkandeelieanderwitz." She slid him the item in question through the slot.

He turned the disk over in his hand carefully and gave it a curious glance. On the surface it bore a vague resemblance to a computer disk. Other than that, there were no identifying marks of any kind. He pocketed it and asked, "Xorkkan-bloody who? And what do you mean I'm going to another room? I thought I was going to be sent onwards to, you know, an alternate dimension."

"In due time, sir. First you have to report to your caseworker. He'll evaluate your file and decide what your ultimate destination/destiny will be. Don't lose that disk and have a nice trip. NEXT!" She pressed a button on her desk and his own personal vortex opened under him, swallowing up the vampire in an instant.

"Wait a bloody—!" The room vanished as the vortex caught and spun him helplessly in its eddy. He was battered by the howl of turbulent winds and a kind of grinding shriek that rose in volume and intensity until it hurt his ears. After who knew how long, he was hurtled from the mystical whirlpool to land sprawling on another hard floor. 

"Shit, what's with the crazy comings and goings? Can't I just walk anyplace like normal people?" He groused. Taking a quick look around, he saw the four walls of a cramped room and a low desk with a computer atop it. The walls were stacked to the roof with filing cabinets labeled with indecipherable symbols. But it was the being behind the desk that caught Spike's attention.

The small, dwarflike figure perched on a high chair behind it was barefoot with six toes on each foot and each hand. The hands or paws were covered with a reddish gold fur and the unhuman creature was completely bald except for weird tufts of hair that sprouted in random patterns all over his head and the fur that covered his face except for his eyes and nose. There were two tufted ears on the top of its head that swiveled constantly in every direction as if it suffered from perpetual agitation. It resembled nothing so much as a mangy pygmy marmoset crossed with a koala bear. 

It was working feverishly, tapping on a keyboard, peering into the computer screen and muttering to itself. "Oy." Spike spoke up, getting irritated when the creature appeared not to notice his presence. "OY!"

The hairy midget looked up at last, irritation drifting across its furry face, and blinked its red eyes. "Oh. You must be my one o'clock. Have a seat." It waved a paw at the empty space in front of the desk.

"But there's no—" At that moment, a chair magically appeared in front of the desk. "Oh. Right." Spike walked over with his customary swagger and plopped down. 

The creature continued to tap on the keyboard for another moment before stopping. Finally it folded its paws, stared at Spike and then grimaced. "Well?" Even the marmoset's voice was furry, making its words sound as if it'd swallowed cotton balls.

"Well, what?" Belatedly he remembered what the bird at the desk told him. Fishing his disk out of his pocket, he handed it over to What's-His-Face and leaned back as the creature inserted it into the A drive.

"Hmmm. Hmmm." The animal didn't appear too impressed by what it was seeing and the piercing, scrutinizing look it gave Spike wasn't particularly reassuring.

After awhile the vampire couldn't stand the silent inspection any longer. "What's the verdict then, Mork? Do I get to join the holy choir or what?"

"That's Mr. Xorkkandeelieanderwitz. But you can call me Xork (pronounced ZORK) or sir if that's too difficult for you to manage. As for where you go from here…well, that all depends on you. According to your file, you went out and got a soul last year. Is that correct, Mr….Spike, is it?" The creature pronounced it as SPECK.

The vampire frowned. Was the furball trying to insult him? He couldn't tell from its facial expression. "It's Spike, actually." 

"That's what I said. Speck."

"No, you…" Spike huffed in irritation before deciding to let it go. "Never mind. And about the other thing. You're right. Got me my soul back. Can't say there's too many vampires could make that claim." He preened himself slightly on that knowledge.

"No, nor that they'd get one for such selfish reasons," the creature replied with a snort, clearly unimpressed with Spike's feeble boast.

The vampire scowled, immediately on his mettle. "Selfish? 'Ere now, none of that! I got mine for the woman I loved. Thought it'd make me into a better man, the kind of man she'd want!"

"Hmmm. So you didn't do it for personal redemption but simply to win a girl. That's why you ran back to her hometown after you got your soul instead of, say, wandering the world helping others and doing good deeds. Am I correct in this assumption?" All twelve fingers fluttered and then laced together as the creature awaited his answer.

The flippant brushing aside of his actions from last year outraged Spike. He decided to point out to the animal the errors of his thinking. "Oy, I couldn't waste time traveling around the world like a David Carridine character. I was needed on the Hellmouth. Does 'from beneath you it devours' ring any bells between those furry ears of yours, mate?"

"You only heard that message after you crawled back to Sunnydale and hid yourself in a basement over the Hellmouth. Then you promptly started going crazy, hearing voices and getting your mind played with by the First…Evil, was it?" Xork scanned the screen as if checking his facts. "Yes, that's what they called it in your world. _That's_ where you heard that particular message. Until then, the only reason for your return had been that female—the Slayer."

Damn, when the creature put it that way, his actions didn't seem so noble, did they? But Spike was sick of people judging him. Nobody back in Sunnydale but Buffy had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and now it looked like he was being assessed by beings in other dimensions as well. Frankly, he was bloody fed up with it. "Look, you can't judge me by what you think of me. You don't know me, do you, Mork?"

"On the contrary. Thanks to that disk, I know everything about you, Mr. Speck." Xork turned the monitor so the vampire could see it and Spike got a look at the screen.

Squiggles re-shaped themselves into words and he saw written down, as if from a passage in a book, a scene from his early youth. There he was, sitting under a tree (not because it was comfortable but because he thought that was the sort of thing that poets did), cudgeling his brains for a good rhyme for the word "butterfly." Spike sat back from the computer, swallowing hard. "Bloody hell," he muttered. If he'd still been human there would have been a fiery blush all over his face.

"That's right, Mr. Speck," the creature replied with a faint hint of relish in its voice. "Not only your deeds but every word you ever spoke, every tiny little thought that ever crossed your mind are in your file. So we know not only your actions but also the reasons behind them. Your motivations are pretty lousy, by the way," Xork finished with a contemptuous squint.

Spike wasn't about to relive his miserable life as a useless human. That would be simply too degrading for words. He could just see this Xork character sifting through his humiliating rejection from Cecily. He'd prefer that the beastie skip over _that_ period of his existence.

"Listen, I went back to Sunnydale 'cause that's where I knew I would be of use. I was the best and strongest part of Buffy's crew. I was the only real fighter of the lot and she knew it. When I was fighting alongside them after Buffy died, they were mostly dead weight."

Xork's tufted ears twitched, whether in amusement or disdain, Spike wasn't certain. "Well, that would be what you think. You have an enormous ego. But, underneath all that swagger, you know better." Xork touched a few keys and brought up a small inset window entitled "Sunnydale 1996-2003." "According to this, you weren't there when the Hellmouth Slayer fought the Master."

Spike rolled his eyes. What did that have to do with anything? "Wasn't in Sunnydale that year, was I?"

The creature gave a sniff, the gesture evidently conveying the same disdain it did in Spike's world. "No, you were wreaking murderous havoc in Prague with Drusilla. The Slayer had her valiant friends aiding her in her struggles—quite ably, I might add. Then when the Slayer fought Angelus you were less than useful."

"What the hell are you talking about? I helped pull Drusilla out of the running. If the Slayer had had to face the bloody poof and Dru on her own, she would have gotten killed. The whole world would have gone to hell in a handbasket. If it didn't, it's 'cause of me, innit?" He propped his feet on the desk and rocked back in his chair, satisfied he'd made his point.

Xork read off the screen in a bored voice. "Drusilla attacked me! Faithless bitch, always preferring the giant poofster over me. Still, I was able to fight her off and knock her unconscious. She was never the fighter I am, poor lamb. 'Sorry, baby. Wish there was another way.' I scoop her up and see Angelus slashing and fighting the Slayer for all he's worth. He's managed to get her sword away from her and got her pinned to the wall good and proper. Doesn't look like the bitch has much fight left in her. 'God. He's gonna kill her.' Well, not my problem. I got what I came for. Let the two of 'em sort it out."

Xork tapped his fingers on the screen. "At that point, you thought Angelus was going to finish off the Slayer. Acathla would have opened, human beings would have been tortured for eternity and you didn't care. You got Drusilla and that's all that mattered. So much for saving the world, Mr. Speck."

Spike shuffled his feet. His so-called caseworker didn't seem interested in helping him as much as going over past misdemeanors and foul-ups. "Well, it all turned out all right in the end, didn't it? Wouldn't have if I hadn't helped."

"That's more due to the Slayer's willingness to use available resources and ability to call upon inner strength not your intentions or actual assistance, Mr. Speck. Your participation, in the end, was not what enabled her to win that battle, especially since you were driving out of town with your paramour." Xork stated. "Then there's the matter of your aid in the fight against Mayor Wilkins."

Now that was uncalled for. "Why you bringing that up? I wasn't there for that either." He stopped speaking when he realized that was the hairball's point.

The creature's toothsome grin was without mirth. "Precisely. You were in South America with your leman. You only returned to Sunnydale because you were once again fixated on the Slayer. Then, in the struggle against Adam, well, you tried to betray the Slayer and her friends only turning to their side again when it proved more beneficial to you. Again, selfishness before _and_ after betrayal." He shook his head sadly. "Not exactly stirring examples in your favor."

Spike had had enough of the play-by-play descriptions of his failures. It was time to get this furry troll back on track. "Okay, so I stumbled a bit in the do-gooding arena along the way. What could you expect? I was still evil back then, weren't I?" He saw the pointed stare and realized that argument might not exactly win him any points in his favor. "Could we just skip over all that and get to the year after I won my soul?"

"It's all part and parcel of your file, Mr. Speck. I can't overlook it simply because it makes you uncomfortable, it's not convenient to the way you see yourself or because _you_ think it doesn't matter. You didn't get your soul in a vacuum, after all. I have to look at the events leading up to that decision and after its retrieval. It's one big, rich tapestry and every thread counts." He squinted at the screen again. "Now as to the fight against Glory…"

Spike leaned forward, eager to show what an asset he'd been. "That's right. I was there, shoulder to shoulder with Buffy, scrapping away like I always did. She knew she could count on me more than the others. I mean, I was the only other one with the super strength there."

"I suppose that explains why you were knifed in the ribs and thrown off the tower by a demon that was almost a head shorter than you," Xork finished dryly, smirking at Spike's embarrassed and guilty expression. "That was rather a poor showing on your part as opposed to the 'dead weight' members of the team. There was the construction worker, who knocked the goddess through a wall with a wrecking ball, the two witches who parted the crowd with only a thought, the librarian/Watcher who was actually the one to kill the goddess by murdering her human half and the Slayer who saved the world yet again by sacrificing her own life." Xork gave him a level stare. "A terrible sacrifice that would not have been necessary, by the way, if you had protected the Key as you promised. Your aid to the champion of light hasn't been as great as you would like to believe and it was never selfless."

Spike said nothing in reply. He couldn't. Xork wasn't telling him anything he hadn't said to himself, over and over again, the summer after Buffy's death in the battle against Glory. He had failed her. He knew it even if he never said so in front of her friends. Some hero he had been. The grief he'd known during the summer following her death briefly rose up to strangle him and he blinked hard as his vision swam.

The furball didn't see or didn't care about the vampire's anguish as he continued reciting from the screen. "In the year after she was resurrected, the Slayer was afflicted with a particularly severe case of soul trauma, a situation which you did nothing to remedy…"

Spike interrupted, "Soul trauma? What the hell is that?"

Xork's eyebrows twitched along with his ears. "Oh, that's right. You didn't bother to find out what was wrong with the Slayer. You only went to that triad of mortal children in order to find out if something was wrong with _you._ She suffered from soul trauma, a condition quite as devastating and dangerous as mental and physical damage. The explanation for it is long and complicated and it's her problem not yours so there's no point in getting into it here."

Xork carried on relentlessly. "Since you want to focus on your last year, let's just pull that up, shall we? Let's encapsulate your fight against the First—a non-corporeal being, incidentally, so you couldn't provide much in the way of real support if physical prowess was all you brought to the table. Your main help consisted of being captured by Bringers, tortured by a Turok Han, getting rescued, housed and handfed by the Slayer, brainwashed into killing people by the First Evil, getting thoroughly beaten by the First's agent in a pivotal battle and wearing a magical artifact that destroyed a town. Oh my." He turned towards Spike. "Do you have anything to say about this sad tale of appalling uselessness and tragic ineptitude?"

Spike's fists flexed. He dearly wished he had a fag. It would have given him something to do with his hands and stifled the urge to choke Xork until he turned blue. "That's one-sided and slanted and you know it! I helped train those girls…"

"Which the Watcher could have done and which they did on their own during daylight hours when you couldn't be there," Xork replied, dismissal clear in its voice and attitude.

"I fought and killed that demon when Buffy went into that vortex." Spike recalled that brawl with particular relish. He'd gotten his stones back and proven to everyone the Big Bad was back and no one's punching bag. The other Scoobies certainly had made a poor showing by comparison. 

Xork's next words promptly punctured his ego. "That was after it threw you through the ceiling, wasn't it? And killing demons? Pretty much what you've been doing for the last three years. Not much in the way of anything new there." Xork yawned, revealing a purplish, ridged interior and a double row of tiny, razor-tipped incisors running along the upper and lower jaw.

What the bloody hell was going on here? Was he with a social worker or defending himself in front of a jury? "Once again—fighting the good fight here. Big difference in terms of motivation. I didn't just go out looking for demons to work over when I got my soul, did I?"

"No, that is true. When the Slayer's Watcher was turned into a demon, you were happy at the idea that here was another demon for you to punch and kill. Back then, you were just hanging around for the booze, blood and barfights, weren't you? Makes me wonder why the others tolerated you so much." The furred one scratched his belly.

"They could tell I was useful—unlike some others I could name," Spike muttered with a scowl.

Xork ignored the swipe. "What passes for law enforcement on many worlds is useful too but you don't invite them over to dinner when they're not related to you. Well, no matter. That's all in the past. Now we have to discuss the future. Precisely, _your_ future, Mr. Speck." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and Spike found himself holding his non-existent breath.

"The fact that you willingly retrieved your soul counts in your favor. Not by much, you understand, but it does give you a bargaining chip with the folks higher up. So you have a choice. You can go to a hell dimension. There are any number of harsh, disagreeable worlds that would suit a creature of your temperament perfectly. In the one that's been selected for you, you'll meet up with many of the deceased demons you killed. They should be very happy to see you again. A lot of them have scores to settle. Among the others, there are a few who have a, shall we say, _predilection_, for vampires?" A raised eyebrow and swift appraising glance over Spike's form made the vampire's skin crawl.

Once again he found himself pushing down feelings of panic. "Sod it. I'm not having any of that! Come on, I don't get this. I saved the world. I put myself out there and the world is saved because of me. Why're you talking about making me some demon's whore?"

"You didn't save the world, Mr. Speck. You saved _a_ world." Xork corrected. "And we're not talking just one demon. A lot of them would like to bend you over in uncomfortable positions and have their naughty way with you."

A muscle twitching in Spike's jaw was the only sign of his growing apprehension. "Why is that even an option? Shouldn't I be getting some kind of reward?"

Xork's eyebrows shot halfway up to his hairline. "After 120-odd years of murder, massacres, rape, torture, mayhem and impalement with long, sharp, pointy instruments? Noooooo, I don't think so. Besides, you had to destroy an entire town to save your world and took 259 lives with you. I believe the phrase for that in your dimension is Pyrrhic victory."

"It couldn't be helped! You think it was my idea to pop off and have the whole of Sunnyhell become another Grand Canyon?" Something else the creature said registered and Spike's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 259 lives?"

"Did you and the Slayer do a final check of the town before implementing her plan?" Seeing the dawning comprehension in his eyes, Xork sighed. "No, of course not. Mr. Speck, this wasn't an evacuation ordered by the government. People left the hamlet of Sunnydale in droves because many of them saw the writing on the wall. But there were people who refused to leave their homes either out of stubbornness, pride, madness, illness or simply because they had nowhere else to go. Many were willfully blind, hoping that whatever catastrophe was striking the town _this_ time would blow over the way it had in the past."

The being that looked like a balding Furby leaned back in his chair and directed a cold stare at the demon opposite him. "Those 259 people are dead, Mr. Speck. And it's your fault."

"But I saved the world! Doesn't that count for anything?" Spike yelled back and now he didn't care if this creature saw him as being desperate. "Yeah, we lost lives and that's a bloody shame and all. But we were in a war. We lost people on our side, too! Those potentials were dying left, right and center. Civilians die in war. That's the sad truth of it, Mork, and blaming me for it is just damned stupid."

Xork's teeth chattered and the buzzing sound managed to convey both annoyance and boredom at once. "It's not stupidity. It's the truth in plain black and white. Along with those dozen people you murdered _with_ your soul, you were responsible for an additional 259 lives lost in the destruction of that town. And it needn't have happened. Why, in other alternate realities, Sunnydale still stands, bustling and thriving. Well, as bustling and thriving as it can be situated over a Hellmouth as it is. What you did resulted in considerable property loss and cost lives. So this is where your other option comes in."

He leaned back over the desk directing his crimson gaze on the vampire. "You've got the choice of going back and fixing that mess."

"Back? I can go back to Earth?" He could get to see Buffy again. For a moment, wild hope surged up in his soul along with the fierce desire to renew his love affair with the blonde beauty whose image haunted him even now.

The fuzzy creature shook its head as if surmising his thought. "Sorry, I'm not talking about your going back to start a romance with the Slayer. I'm talking about going back in time, back to prevent all this from happening."

"Me? You want me to keep the town from collapsing?" That sounded like a staggeringly monumental task. If that's what he had to do to redeem his soul, he was in serious trouble.

The creature nodded. "That's entirely correct. You see, there's something you never knew, something the former vengeance demon and the Slayer's Watcher hid from you. According to reports, the First Evil was able to implement its plans to overrun your dimension by taking advantage of an imbalance caused by the Slayer's forced re-entry back into your world. If that hadn't happened, the First would never have been able to put his plan into action. No plan, no last-ditch attempt at preventing the apocalypse. No standoff against all the Turok Hans, no town collapsing into the dirt. You get my meaning?"

"That's it? That's what I need to do? Prevent Buffy from being brought back?" His jaw clenched as he considered what that would mean. If he prevented that, the time he'd spent with Buffy would disappear. There'd be no sex with her, no chance of him getting close to her or being with her. They'd go back to being reluctant allies again.

He looked up to see Xork staring at the screen. The beast snorted and glared at him. "I'm offering you a chance at redemption, to be a real hero instead of a destructive martyr, and this is the only thing that's on your tiny mind? Getting back into the Slayer's unmentionables? No wonder you're teetering on the edge of damnation."

Spike glanced uneasily at the computer. "Hang on. That thing's recording what I'm thinking and feeling…right now?"

"That's right, Mr. Speck. I told you, everything about you is being recorded in your file. Your history didn't stop getting written just because your supposed exit from Sunnydale." He flicked a glance at the screen and his eyes narrowed. "And you can forget about smashing the computer or stealing the disk. We've got backups and your file on hard copy. If you attack me, you'll simply be given another case worker and that one will shunt you off to the hell dimension immediately after you've been labeled as an 'Incorrigible.' You'd be better off thinking about your assignment."

"Shit, I'm on assignment now? What am I, a bleedin' cop?" Spike muttered.

"No, what you are is a bleedin' time traveler, Mr. Speck," Xork snapped, crudely mimicking Spike's coarse accent. "Here are the rules. You can pick any time in your past. You will go back there and be exactly as you were at that particular moment and place in your history. If you choose to be human and in England, then that's who and where you'll be."

Spike dismissed that option right away. "You can forget that. There was nothing for me in England. I'll stick with my vampire existence if you don't mind."

Xork rocked from side to side. "Very well. There are other stipulations. You can visit each temporal window only once. You fail in your task and that moment will not be open to you again. You cannot try again one month prior or succeeding to your attempt. We are not responsible for any mishaps, dangers or demises that you encounter while fulfilling your task."

That sounded ominous. "What does that mean? Demises?"

"Exactly what I said. You have only 24 hours of your dimension's time from the moment of your re-entry to make the necessary change that will prevent the Slayer's resurrection. But, if you expire in the course of your duties before the 24 hours are up, you'll be brought back immediately and lose that temporal window."

That didn't sound the least bit fair or particularly helpful. The vampire tried to negotiate. "Twenty-four hours? That don't give me a hell of a lot of time to make a dent, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you. A great deal may be done in twenty-four hours by someone who's clever and resourceful," Xork stated bluntly. "Finally, you are forbidden to tell anybody about the timeline you mean to change. Believe me, you don't need that kind of attention. It would only distract you from your mission. You can warn them about existing problems but not the future. You _cannot_ tell them about your predicament or that you're doing this to save your own soul. This isn't just about you and your redemption, Mr. Speck. It's about saving an entire town."

Spike wasn't completely satisfied with this. "So say I do this. Say I manage to rescue good old Sunnyhell. What's my reward? Another round in that Waiting Room or somewhere else?"

"Your reward, as it were, would be to stay in the world that you helped to create by means of your actions. You could stay in Sunnydale," noting Spike's excited look, "or leave and travel the world. It would be up to you. I hope this will be incentive enough for you to do your best."

The creature leaned over the desk as if to place special emphasis on what he had to say next. "You see, you receive only five chances to make this right. If you fail…" He let his voice trail off and a long tongue came out and suggestively licked his lips—and cheek and eyes. Damn, the creature had a long tongue. Make that a combo of pygmy marmoset, koala bear and gecko.

"Why only five chances? Why not six or twelve? You know—one for each finger," he added as he gestured at Xork's paws.

"I don't make the rules, Mr. Speck. The higher ups decided you get only five tries. I don't know why it is so don't ask me. As your caseworker, I'm here to lay down the rules and see you follow them. If five is the allotted amount, then that's all you get. It's that or the hell dimension."

Spike subsided, not without a muttered obscenity about officious hobbits under his breath. "Fine. When do I start?"

"There's no time like the present…and no present like time." The creature grinned at its own humor and ignored Spike's contemptuous snort. "When's your first port of call?" Xork's fingers poised over the keyboard.

Spike pursed his lips. Then he brightened and smiled a feral grin. "Oh wait. I know. This is gonna be sweet." 

_"That's the greatest torture souls feel in hell:_

_In hell, that they must live and cannot die." _– John Webster, Duchess of Malfi

TBC


	3. Watch That First Step

_"It is good to be merry and wise,___

_It is good to be honest and true;_

_'Tis well to be off with the old love_

_Before you go on with the new."_ – Anonymous (modern version of an old song)

The vehicle careened dangerously across the road as Spike abruptly found himself in the driver's seat of his car. "BLOODY HELL!" he yelped as he frantically spun the wheel to avoid oncoming traffic. The car swerved out of control and crashed into the pole, causing him to bang his head on the steering wheel. The sign bearing the words "Welcome to Sunnydale" fell to the ground and the DeSoto rocked to a standstill as he jammed his foot down on the brake.

He touched his forehead gingerly, grimacing as his fingers came away smeared with blood. That was fantastic, that was. Two minutes on the job and he was already injured. Knowing the minor wound would heal in seconds didn't make him feel any better. 

Absolutely furious, he scrambled out of the car and yelled at the sky. "Oy! When I said I wanted to get back to my first time in Sunnydale, I didn't mean behind the bloody wheel of the car! What're you trying to do, kill me?" It was probably Xork's idea of a practical joke and he wished more than ever he'd taken the opportunity to slap the hairy midget around before being shunted back here.

"Spike? What's happening? Why are you screaming at the stars? Are they telling you bad things?" The soft, lilting voice came from inside the car and Spike froze. If he'd had a heartbeat it would have stopped in his chest.

It was Drusilla, peering out at him in confusion from within the confines of the DeSoto. She was just as ethereally beautiful as he remembered, her pale eyes shining in her kittenish face, lustrous brunette hair spilling past her delicate swanlike neck down to her white shoulders. Wearing an impractical but shimmering cream-colored gown, she seemed to glow in the dim traffic lights overhead. 

But she was definitely a fly in the ointment. When he'd asked to be sent back to this time, he'd forgotten about his princess. Well, she wasn't that big a problem, all things considered. In this time, she was weak and helpless, barely able to go anywhere without help and supervision. He didn't care about her anyhow. It was the Slayer that was his main concern. 

He was tempted to stake her right here and now. But the helpless look in her limpid eyes stirred memories of all the lovely nights he'd spent cuddling with her, rolling around in blood and generally wreaking mayhem on the unsuspecting human populations of the various towns and cities they visited. The familiar unholy bliss bubbled up inside and he didn't have the heart to do her in. 

He wondered why it should be so hard to destroy his princess when he'd been perfectly willing to dust her for the Slayer's sake the last time Drusilla blew into town. Well, he didn't have time to sort out the mystery now. If he wasn't going to get rid of his dark princess, then he needed to keep her and the Slayer separated. All he had to do was stash Drusilla someplace and see to it that she kept out of the way. And he knew the perfect place for it…

Here he was, back in good ole Sunnyhell. It had been the scene of the most crushing failures and defeats of his unlife. Getting his ass kicked repeatedly by the Slayer, trapped under a falling church organ that landed him in a wheelchair, watching his beloved Dru renewing her sick, sordid affair with that ponce Angelus, having that sodding chip stuck in his head by those Initiative wankers and being forced to stay in Xander's crummy basement were only some of the sour notes struck by returning to this place. When he thought about it, he realized how much he hated this little burg.

But he thought that there had been a lot of great times, too. Being with the Slayer topped the list. After that—well, he couldn't really dredge up any good memories other than those. The killing had been good but he could think of other places that were much better in terms of taste, richness and variety. Drusilla had bagged a Slayer but she hadn't even bothered to tell him 'cause she'd been so wrapped up in his damned Grandsire.

It had been occasionally fun tormenting the Scoobies but that was outweighed by the humiliation he'd had to put up with from being impotent and forced to rely on them for protection and food. Still, it had been home for the last four years and that gave it a faint feeling of nostalgia. Not that he'd ever admit to fond reminiscences about this place to anybody, even Buffy. He was too macho for that sort of sentimental crap.

Well, he'd spent enough time absorbing the night air. Time to get down to business. After parking the car, he toddled off with Drusilla to find the Annoying One's lair.

Yep, it was just as he remembered it. There was that dumb, lying poncy git nattering on about being in attendance at the Crucifixion while the others stood around in abject poses worshipping that idiot child. What a sorry lot of gits they were. But they were all he had to work with so he'd just have to make do. The first thing he had to do was get the undead kid out of the way. 

This time he came in and marched straight to the throne, sinking to one knee. "Is it out of the way for a stranger in town to pay his respects?" he said in a falsely deferential tone. The demon standing by the boy's side had tensed slightly but otherwise didn't make a move.

The boy tilted his head in curiosity. He thought this new vampire's accent was strange and why was his hair that funny color? "Who are you?" he asked.

"Your replacement." Before anyone could move, he flew up and buried the stake he'd hidden under his coat into the boy's chest. The kid's mouth dropped open and he crumbled into dust. The vampire by his side flew at him with a roar but Spike ducked the first clumsy windmilling blow and the stake shortly found a new home for itself in his heart.

Spike swept away the Annoying One's ashes, plopped down on the empty throne and looked around with a smirk. "Right. Anybody else want to challenge me for this seat then let the one with the biggest wrinklies step up and try it. Any takers?" His amber eyes scanned the room. These were your typical run-of-the-mill minions without an ounce of spine or courage. He remembered how easy it had been ruling them before. They shouldn't pose any problems for him now.

He leaned back in the chair, utterly at ease. "Now that that's sorted, first things first. I hear you lot have got problems with the Slayer. Don't bother about her; I've killed two of them in my time. I think I can handle this one on my own." Drusilla chose this moment to come wandering in and he crooked his finger, beckoning to Lucius. "See her?" he said, pointing to the delicate creature. "She's my precious, she is. You lot take care of her and see that she doesn't come to any harm. She's a bit on the daft side so I'm trusting you to see to it that she don't hurt herself or do anything stupid. You let one hair on her head be harmed and you join the ashes on the floor. Got it, mate?" 

The minion nodded hurriedly. He didn't know this vampire's reputation but he'd taken out their leader and his bodyguard in the twinkling of an eye. He wasn't going to be the one to face up to him. Seeing he'd gotten the toothy underling properly cowed, Spike swung his legs off the throne and grinned, exposing his fangs. "Now that the boring toddler is gone, what say we have us some fun? Anybody for takeout?" 

Killing the delivery boy was regrettable but he had to convince these cringing subordinates that he was still a badarse. After letting Drusilla get the first taste, he'd been forced to finish off the boy. Actually, draining the bloke had been rather fun. It was so glorious, sinking his teeth into a throbbing jugular instead of sipping out of a cup, feeling the struggling body, hearing the boy scream and the wildly pounding heartbeat slow to a thready, faltering murmur and then lurch to a stop. Briefly, he was worried because it was so enjoyable. Shouldn't his soul be torturing him over this?

He stopped walking along the street and frowned while he considered his recent kill. He searched for the slight twinge of guilt that had been nagging him almost incessantly ever since he'd gotten his soul re-attached and his eyes opened wide in shock as the truth hit him. 

His soul was gone. He could feel it nowhere in residence and he wanted to scream in frustration. Naturally his soul wasn't here. It was just as the furred one had said; he'd been returned to the past just as he had been in this time period: at the top of his game, no chip, no harassing army wankers to avoid, no stupid Scoobies as friends—and no animating essence. He was the big, bad soulless bastard he'd used to be before Sunnydale had messed up everything for him.

So why did he still feel the overpowering love for Buffy? Well, he'd loved her before he'd gotten that damned soul glued back into his body and all his memories were still very much intact. So it made sense that his love for her was still there. 

Would the lack of a soul be such an obstacle? Uneasily he recalled the aborted rape attempt on Buffy's bathroom floor. Xork hadn't mentioned that and he'd been profoundly grateful. Of all the things he'd done to Buffy as a soulless beast, that had shamed him the most.

Well, he wasn't going to let a little thing like the absence of a soul stop him. He was still William the Bloody and he had a mission to perform—or die trying.

_"Love seeketh only self to please,_

_To bind another to its delight,_

_Joys in another's loss of ease,_

_And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite…"_ - William Blake, "The Clod and the Pebble"

But, crap, without a soul, he wasn't as focused as he'd been. Coming into the Bronze to find the Slayer, he found himself bombarded with the scents and sounds of teenaged pheromones and human heartbeats. Pulsating jugulars lay in hot mortal bodies all around him and he had to tamp down the overwhelming urge to sink his fangs into the nearest bared neck.

[Get a grip, mate! Cool the bloodlust and focus!] Shaking off the call of the blood singing to him from all directions, he scanned his eyes around the club. There she was, dancing with the whelp. He bared his teeth in a silent snarl at seeing the Harris boy so close to his girl. But he kept in mind what the furred freak had said. He wasn't here to join hips with the Slayer but to keep her alive. So he had to make friends with her. He had to appeal to her before he found himself on the business end of a stake. 

Spike recalled that she hadn't killed him the first time he'd shown. She was too occupied with the minion he'd sicced on her and worried about what he'd told her. Now he only had to convince her right from the start he was one of the good guys. 

He walked up to the vampire at the bar. "Go get something to eat." Then he spoke to someone else, loudly enough for the Slayer to overhear him. "Where's the phone? I need to call the police. There's some big guy out there trying to bite someone."

He remembered this part: watching Buffy take the bait, sneaking out after her and hearing that dim minion he'd selected spill the beans about Saturday. But witnessing it again was a whole new experience, colored as it was by his overwhelming love for her. God, it was wonderful, seeing Buffy in action. Even at this early stage, she was still a lethal little beauty. So caught up was he in observing her graceful moves, he nearly missed his minion's cry for help. "Spike, gimme a hand!"

Buffy shot a sharp look in his direction and their eyes met. Even knowing she didn't care for him in this timeline, it still struck him hard to see nothing in her eyes except wary contempt. Then she looked up as Xander tossed her the stake. Snatching it out of the air, she plunged it into the minion's chest in one smooth motion. 

Unable to help himself, he applauded. "Nice work, luv." Seeing the gathering antagonism in her eyes, he held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Relax. I don't bite."

She hefted the stake and stalked towards him, fatal power and grace in every move. He was on the point of creaming himself just looking at her. "Not after tonight, you won't."

"Easy, luv. I'm on your side. I came here to help." Seeing that her expression didn't change, he thought quickly of what to say to stop her from attacking him. "You've got help from Angel, right?"

She paused, confusion replacing the hostility. "Angel? You know Angel?"

"Sure. Me and him, we go way back. I just want to help, like he does." Damn, it was hard to concentrate with her standing so close. Seeing her, smelling her familiar vanilla odor and hearing the well-known rush of her heartbeat brought all his old feelings of lust rushing back. He wanted nothing so much than to grab her and start pounding her into the ground. His pants tightened at the thought and he shifted back into the shadows to hide his erection from her eyes.

"Why?" she demanded. "You're a vampire, aren't you? And don't bother lying about it. I can tell from here." She lifted her nose and sniffed ostentatiously. "Crypt odor, death, coffin breath, blood stink and ashes. Yep. Vampire, all right." She advanced again, faster, and he began jogging backwards.

"Oy, I don't stink!" Realizing that wasn't as important as his imminent demise, he threw out desperately, "Look, I've got a soul!" 

That stopped her in her tracks. "A soul? You've got a soul? What, were they holding a yard sale on them or something?" Then she glanced at the ashes of the dusted vampire behind her and became suspicious again. "Then why was that vampire calling for you? Did he have a soul, too?"

"No, he thought I was gonna help him. But I was the one who put you on his tail, see? Remember hearing me in the bar?" he pointed out.

She thought for a moment. "Oh yeah. I did remember hearing a weird accent. So why didn't you just come up to me and ask for my help? Or, better yet, just stake the vamp yourself?" 

He stared at her in disbelief. He couldn't recall the Buffy he'd first met being this stupid. Of course, he hadn't exactly had a long, in-depth conversation with you then, either. "Right. Like you'd have listened to one vampire telling you about another. 'Sides, if I'd come to you, you'd probably have staked me."

Buffy shifted her grip on the stake she held. "Still a possibility." 

Spike decided to make her an offer to show his good intentions. "Just hear me out and then you can stake me if you like." 

"Okay, Brit vamp. Start talking."

He relaxed minutely when he saw she wasn't in slaying mode. "It's like this, see. I've come to warn you about Angel. He's got a bit of a problem with that soul of his."

She raised an eyebrow. She was interested but unimpressed. "A problem? Such as?"

"It's not really securely tied down. If he has one moment of happiness, he'll lose it and then his badarse alter ego Angelus will return. You've got to get him out of town so that doesn't happen."

She stared at him and then let out a snort of disbelief. "That's what you've come here to tell me? That another vampire who just happens to have a soul like yours is gonna lose it because of happiness? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"

"It's true, luv! All you need to do is ask that Jenny Calendar woman!"

"Jenny Calendar? What does she have to do with it? And what's the idea of calling me 'luv?' Do I look like your girlfriend?" Buffy glared.

He was tempted to reply in the affirmative to that but she was starting to look brassed off and the last thing he wanted to do was antagonize her again. "Just go talk to the bint. She'll tell you whether I'm lying or not about that soul. Now if you want me to prove my good faith…" He took a risk and stepped closer to her. "I'll lead you back to where the Anointed One's minions are hiding and we can take 'em all out." He flicked a glance at where Xander and Willow were hovering in the background, anxiously taking in everything that was happening. "You can even bring your little cheerleading squad along if you think they'll help."

"Hey! Who're you calling a cheerleader? You're the one with the painted nails and dyed hair!" Xander retorted.

Buffy glanced down at his fingernails and she burst out laughing. Spike gritted his teeth and crammed his fists into his pockets. He'd forgotten how intolerable it was having the whelp around; maybe during the rest of his 24-hour window, he could find a way to kill the lad without the Slayer knowing. "You shouldn't talk about fashion, Xander. You look like the traveling circus lost one of their clowns."

"Says the rock star wannabe and loser," Xander sniped.

He didn't miss the fleeting smile that darted across Buffy's face before it resumed a stern expression. The idea that she enjoyed Xander's taunts at his expense was galling. Before he could come back with another insult, she snapped her fingers at him. "Less quippage with my friends, more convincing of the Slayer. You're coming with me to meet Angel and he'll tell me whether this talk of your soul-having is on the level." 

Shit! That was the last thing he wanted. He hadn't seen Angel for almost a century after his soul had been returned by those damned gypsies but he'd been able to tell at once that the poof choking the life out of the donut boy hadn't been Angelus. If Angel looked at him, he'd know right away that the story about the soul was bogus. Then it was only a toss-up as to whether he staked Spike or the Slayer did. 

"Look, Slayer. That's not such a good idea. Me and the great po—I mean, Angel didn't really get along back in the day. I don't think he'd be really thrilled to see me."

"Why not? If you're both the dynamic duo of souled vampires, I think he'd be thrilled to see you, fake Billy Idol leanings aside," Xander called out.

The boy was really starting to get on his nerves. He ground out, "Having souls don't make us compatible. I mean, this moron on your little squad has got a soul and already I don't like him. Angel and me didn't always rub along together. Listen, Buffy…"

Willow spoke up then. "And that's another thing. How do you know our names?" 

He blinked. He hadn't been expecting anything from her; she'd been so shy and withdrawn back in this time. "What?"

The redhead continued, flushing from his intense stare. "Well, you called her Buffy and him Xander. H-How do you know who we are? And how do you know about Jenny Calendar? What's so special about her?"

Buffy's eyes narrowed. Those were very good questions and she could see they made the Billy Idol wannabe nervous. Something was definitely off about his story. And what was with the creepy looks of lustiness he kept throwing her? Major ick factor. "She's right. I'm not exactly listed in the phone book under 'Slayers for Hire.' How did you know my name and that I was the Slayer?"

"How did Angel know?" he shot back. "He was selected to help you and whoever's in charge of these things gave him the info. Well, I got my sources, too." He edged closer, lowering his voice in an insinuating manner. "I know you, Summers. I know things about you even your friends don't know." 

"Oh yeah? Like what?" She crossed her arms and lifted her chin, clearly daring him to prove his claim.

He was about to start off by telling her about the birthmarks on her body, the sort of things she liked to do in bed and the noises she made during sex. But this Buffy was still a virgin. That kind of information was likely to outrage her rather than convince her he was on the level. "Well, you've got a pink pig called Mr. Gordo that keeps you company at nights. Your favorite scent is vanilla and you prefer pancakes to waffles and your hair dye is…"

"Hold it! I don't dye my hair," she protested hotly.

He rolled his eyes at the obvious fib. "Oh, come on, luv, I can smell the hair dye from here."

Ignoring Xander's snicker, Buffy sputtered, "You're-you're a lousy liar! And, as for the rest, that's nothing a good stalker couldn't have come up with. I'm not going anywhere with you and you can either come with us to see Angel or this conversation ends with you looking up at me from the ground." 

He hesitated and that was all the excuse she needed. She lunged and he avoided her by pivoting and kicking out with one leg. They circled each other and he just barely ducked the board Xander swung at him from behind. Crap, he'd nearly forgotten about the not-so-useless sidekicks. He was outnumbered and he had to get out of here before one of the jokers got in a lucky swing and staked him. Dodging Buffy's next swing, he swung her into the arms of her little team and lit out as fast as he could.

As he ran, he mentally scolded himself. Confronting Buffy with her friends in tow was an obvious mistake. He'd allowed them to distract him into making snide comments instead of telling Buffy what she needed to know about the upcoming Feast of St. Vigeous and where the Anointed One's minions could be found. He had to get her alone, away from outside interference from her well-meaning but idiotic teammates. 

He especially had to avoid meeting up with Angel. He'd gotten in one punch the first time he and his souled Grandsire met here in Sunnydale. He doubted he'd be that lucky again. To make matters worse, he still had to deal with the Annoying One's minions. He could take on one or four. But let the whole lot of them attack him and he'd be ashes. And they were still prepping for that damned feast.

He took a roundabout route, one designed to avoid both the Slayer and any wandering minions. Then he stood under a tree, lit a fag and began to consider his options. He had less than 24 hours left and he'd already squandered time by meeting Buffy at the Bronze. But at least he'd set the ball rolling with Angel. She'd go talk to him about that poncy soul of his, get into a little confab with that gypsy woman and then she and Angel would miss their connection.

He grinned triumphantly to himself. Without Angel in the picture, she would concentrate more on her slaying—and himself. True, he had less than 24 hours to make a better impression but he was confident he could do it.

"Now let's see. Who's next that I can talk to?" He narrowed his eyes and flicked ashes from his fag onto the ground. Of course! He'd go to see that poncy Watcher. The man would be too smart to let him indoors. But if he talked to him, warned him about the Feast of St. Vigeous, the tweedy librarian could look it up in one of his musty books. That would convince the Slayer he was telling the truth. They would prepare for Saturday and, without his impatience hustling things along, the minions would wait this time and not jump the gun. Buffy would take them out easily. Naturally, he wouldn't be here by then but that wouldn't matter as much as getting the giant poof out of the picture. 

He jogged off at a trot towards the Watcher's house. Maybe if he was lucky he could still catch the old codger at home. 

Buffy, Xander and Willow walked through the streets. Buffy had taken off after the fleeing vampire but had quickly lost him. Worried about leaving her friends alone on the dangerous streets of Sunnydale, she'd given up the pursuit and returned to join them.

"D-do you think anything he said was true? A-about him having a soul, I mean?" Willow asked, her eyes darting around the streets for more approaching vampires.

"I'm more worried about what he told us about Deadboy. I didn't know his soul was on such a short leash. How come Deadboy never mentioned anything about that, Buffy?"

"I-I don't know. And I don't think we should just be accepting the stories of strange vamps, do you? I think we should hunt up Giles and get him to spill about the Blonde Vampition's claim to soul having. If this vamp's got a soul like he said, there's got to be some record of it, right?"

"I-I don't know, Buffy," Willow murmured uncertainly. "According to the Watcher's files, Angelus was an awful vampire and then he just disappeared and was all avoidy with other vampires. No one knew why until Angel told you about his having a soul."

"Yeah and he didn't tell you that until after Darla attacked your mother. You get the feeling Deadboy likes hiding things from you, Buffy?" Xander tossed in. He didn't trust this new vamp any more than Buffy did. But, if he had some dirt on Angel, Xander was all for having it spilled. Maybe then Buffy would get her head straight about her undead boytoy.

"All right. I'm going to go have a talk with Angel about Mr. I'm-Part-Of-The-Soul-Bandwagon. You guys go and talk to Giles." Buffy had had enough of Xander's carping. If there was any information to be learned about Angel, she wanted to do it away from the nasty tongue of her friend.

"Hey! Why do we have to be the ones to talk to Giles? He's your Watcher!" Xander yelled after her. Buffy ignored him and sprinted off in the direction of Angel's apartment. Xander walked along with Willow, grousing under his breath about crazy women having vampire addictions. Willow as always ignored his rants about Angel and accompanied him to Giles's house. She was curious to hear what he'd have to say about that vampire. She didn't think he'd be so happy to hear Jenny Calendar had been hiding things from him, though. Maybe they should keep that part of the story out of it.

Spike pushed open the door and frowned. Why the hell did the Watcher always have his door open like this? You'd think after everything that had happened to him on the Hellmouth he'd be more careful. The vampire stepped forward only to run smack into the invisible barrier. Oh, right. In this time, the Watcher hadn't invited him into his house. He raised his voice and called out. "'Ello? Anybody home?"

The Watcher came forward, his sleeves rolled up, and wiping his hands with a towel. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at seeing the bleached blond on his doorstep. "Hello? Can I help you?"

"Well, actually, it's more a case of me helping you, mate. Can I come in?"

The man went still, looking the vampire over cautiously. Finally he asked, "That's a good question. Or rather, are you able to come in?"

"Look, just thought I'd ask. I want to be polite and all," Spike grinned. That was one of his charming smiles, the ones he used to get invited into people's homes. The Watcher was more on the ball than most because the expression didn't sway him. He stepped back and all signs of hospitality vanished from his face.

"The door's open. If you can't come in, then you'd better leave…if you're really interested in politeness, that is. And I don't think you are," he added, his voice now stripped of any hint of friendliness.

There was a tense silence as the two measured each other and then Spike shrugged his shoulders. "All right, mate, you got me. I'm a vampire. I didn't want to tell you 'cause, well, didn't think you were in the habit of inviting vamps into your home."

"A very astute observation," Giles observed dryly. The Watcher disappeared and Spike raised his voice in protest.

"Look, before you get a stake or crossbow or whatever doohickey you've got stashed away, I just wanted to tell you something." The Watcher returned with a crossbow pointed unwaveringly at his heart and Spike forced himself to remain calm. "I wouldn't risk coming here to your place if I meant to do mischief since the Slayer would kill me if I hurt her precious Watcher."

Giles's hands tightened on the weapon. "You know about the Slayer…and that I'm her Watcher? That's not exactly conducive to making me trust you."

"All right. You don't have to let me in. But hear me out. I've come to warn you that Angel and Buffy are getting a little too cozy for their own good. He's going to get pelvic with your Slayer and that means his little soul is gonna go bye-bye. When that happens, you'll have a lot more to worry about than yours truly." Spike smelled a well-known odor drifting to him on the air and gritted his teeth. Bloody hell, wasn't he going to be allowed any moment without interference from Buffy's tagalongs?

However, his shocking news caused Giles to blanch and he lowered his weapon slightly. "W-what? What the—what do you mean about Angel and Buffy? Who are you, anyway?"

"That's what we'd like to know," Xander said coolly from behind Spike. "You just cut out from the Bronze, run away from Buffy with your tail between your legs and, now here you are getting chatty with the G-man. Boy, you're a fast mover." 

Spike turned and saw Xander and Willow standing behind him, both of them clutching stakes. It was ridiculous, really. In this timeframe, he could easily disarm and kill both of them. But there was no doing that without getting on Buffy's bad side. Besides, the armed Watcher at his back meant this was a tense situation. He had to find a way to defuse it and fast.

Deciding to ignore the two of them for the time being, he re-focused on the other Englishman. "Who I am isn't important. I'm just a messenger, see? Your Slayer and that poof with the hair gel can't be allowed to stay together. One moment of happiness and the git loses his soul and Angelus comes back. I don't want that and I'm sure you don't want that either. You go talk to that Jenny Calendar and she'll tell you what's what. She'll tell you if I'm lying."

Giles's eyes narrowed at the mention of the female schoolteacher and he brought the weapon up again. "Ms. Calendar? What does she have to do with it?"

"She's a gypsy, that's all. She's a descendant of the original gypsies who stuck Angelus with the soul in the first place. She knows all about this curse thing. You talk to her; she'll tell you."

Giles appeared to wrestle internally with this news. "That may well be true. But that's still no reason to let you go. And you still haven't told us who you are."

"By the way, do we really need to know that?" Xander piped up. "Since when do we hold confabs with vamps or ask for intros before we stake 'em?"

"You're not staking me, whelp, and I wouldn't advise you to try it. You're a piss-poor fighter and you couldn't take me even if I had both hands tied behind my back," Spike sneered.

Evidently Xander decided to test that statement because he charged at Spike. The vampire threw out one fist almost lazily and saw it connect with Xander's cheekbone. The boy yelled with the pain and staggered back, clutching his injured jaw. Willow cried out and ran to hold her friend, glaring daggers at the vampire.

Spike merely smirked at her anger. Gee, the redhead was cute when she was mad. But she didn't have any magical power now that he could sense and he wasn't afraid of her. He'd forgotten the Watcher, however, and became aware of his mistake when he felt a sharp blow at his back.

"SHIT!!" he shrieked and spun halfway around with the force of it. Looking back in shock and rage, he saw Giles notching another arrow onto the bow and realized the berk had shot him. Snarling in fury, he took off before the man could reload, paying no heed to the two Scoobies still on the front stoop.

Damn, none of this was going how he'd planned. He'd managed to brass off Buffy's team, make the Slayer suspicious of him and get himself injured—and all in the space of two hours. How the hell had this gotten so messed up? 

Unfortunately, the pain from his shoulder was overriding everything else, including the ability to think clearly. Lucky for him the Watcher was a lousy shot at this time. Otherwise, he would have been dust by now. Pausing behind a dumpster near a local Doublemeat Palace, he tried reaching around to pull out the offending piece of wood. No dice; it was in at too awkward an angle. He couldn't reach it at all. There was only one thing to do.

Bracing himself in front of the wall, he gritted his teeth and shoved back as hard as he could. He couldn't quite hold back a screech of agony as the arrow was forced through the front of his body just under his shoulder. He snapped off the tip and then pushed backwards until he could grasp the arrow and pull it through completely.

He sagged forward, gulping needlessly, as the pain shivered through his body like a live thing. Bloody hell, it hurt like fire and the agony combined with the blood loss made him feel as weak as a kitten. He would need a fresh kill to bring him up to snuff. Too bad he hadn't taken the opportunity to feed on the Harris boy when he had the chance.

Oh well, he'd just have to find someone else, wouldn't he? Still, he couldn't help the nagging feeling that all this was going on a permanent record somewhere. What was it Xork had said? That everything he did, said and thought was being recorded on a kind of celestial ledger? Maybe even the death of that unlucky sod of a delivery boy would be chalked up against him. Like he didn't have enough problems.

Right then. He'd just head on in to Willy's. The man was always good for a pint of the good stuff. A bottle of O neg should fix him right up. It would also give him time to re-group and think about his next move. It was also unlikely the Slayer would be on the premises. He never recalled her coming there in the early days. Patting his pockets to see if he had enough money, he staggered in the direction of the bar. 

Willy's was bustling as always. He stood in the doorway and re-acquainted himself with the look and feel of the joint. The distinctive scents from at least a dozen different species of demon were enclosed in the tight space and he realized that scent was another thing missing from the Waiting Room denizens. It was just one more element contributing to the overall deadness in the atmosphere.

Willy's was a sleazy little dive, a crummy hole in the wall compared to the grand pubs of England, but it was full of his people. Still, seeing a place that was crawling with demons put him a little too much in mind with the hell he'd left behind and the recollection of that place raised a faint nausea in his throat.

As he stood there hesitating, a Sh'garish demon ten feet tall shoved its way past him and snarled, glaring at the vampire out of purple eyes. "Get out of the way, bloodrat."

Spike growled back, the prospect of a fight managing to allay his worries about his task. "Do you know who you're talking to, arsehole?"

"No and I don't think I care." The demon loomed over him, menace coloring his tones, and those nearest them began edging away to avoid the inevitable confrontation.

Shit, that was right. He'd just blown into town and none of these demon blokes knew him or his reputation. After he'd established himself as the badarse he was, none of them had dared to challenge him. But that wasn't the case now and he couldn't afford to be slowed down by additional injuries or distracted needlessly in a brawl.

He threw up his hands in a conciliatory gesture and smiled in what he hoped was an ingratiating manner. "Sorry, mate. My bad. Didn't mean to bother you. I'm just jonesing for a drink and was in a bit of a mood. You know how it is."

Evidently the Sh'garish wasn't willing to let it go. He poked Spike hard and snarled, "No, I don't know how it is. I just know I've been tripping over you damned vampires ever since I got into this town and you're really starting to piss me off. You things aren't even true demons; you're just human corpses with a demon shoved inside you."

The Sh'garish leaned over Spike and made exaggerated sniffing noises. "You all reek of humanity. You look human, sound human and play with humans. Call yourselves demons? Don't make me laugh." He shoved Spike again, harder this time, and followed up with a vicious right hook to the jaw.

Spike dodged and swung back and his blow connected with the creature's throat, causing it to grunt and reel backward. The bar exploded into an uproar as various other creatures either took bets on the outcome or lunged into the fray. Unfortunately the Sh'garish had friends—five of them, all as big, nasty and tough as he was. They grabbed Spike and heavy fists covered in thick, armorlike skin pounded away at him for several minutes. Then, to the cheers of the other barflies, he was hauled up and unceremoniously dumped out the front door.

Lying in a crumpled heap on the unforgiving pavement, Spike tried to stay still until the world stopped spinning around him. God, he hurt. Every single inch of skin felt ripped, shredded or simply throbbed with an ache that he could feel behind his eyeballs. By the way his chest grated with each movement, he probably had a broken rib or two. Barely able to move, he staggered upright, leaning heavily against a lamppost for support. Blood was pouring from an open cut into one eye and the other was already swelling up until he could hardly see out of it. 

He didn't know if he could make it back to the lair. In any case, it wasn't advisable. Drusilla and the little toadies were waiting for him, yes, but he was only recently established as their new leader. Seeing him returning bloody, battered and broken his first night out in Sunnydale wouldn't exactly work towards keeping them frightened of him, would it? He had to get healed up and quickly. 

He needed blood. He hadn't been able to get any at Willy's, the butcher shops were all likely closed and the hospital was too far away. There was only one means now and he was too banged up to care about the consequences.

Lurking in a dark alley, he peered out and saw and smelled the teenager hurrying along the street. The kid was small but he was better than nothing. Besides, Spike was in no shape to take on larger prey that might put up too much of a struggle. Charging out, he grabbed the boy and dragged him into the alley. Clapping his hand over the terrified kid's mouth, he proceeded to tear into his jugular. 

There was no time for finesse; this was a straight kill. Gulping and drawing hard, he drained the boy down to the last drop. Mmmmm, the boy was sweet and tasty, like all the young were. Virgin, too, judging by the pure, untainted flavor. Strange—the victim smelled familiar but he couldn't be bothered to dwell on that now. He was probably one of the school kids from the old Sunnydale High, maybe even one of the warm bodies he'd been close to earlier this evening.

This was the second human life he'd taken this night but that Xork bastard hadn't said anything about not killing humans while he was here, had he? No, he'd laid down the rules nice and simple and there was nothing in them against draining the occasional human or two. He had to think of the big picture. He was trying to save an entire town. What was a couple of mortal bodies compared to that agenda?

He lifted the lifeless body and stuck it in a nearby dumpster. No sense risking the Slayer finding him in the alley with it. If Angel found it, he'd be able to identify the fang marks on the boy's neck and finger him as the culprit. Stowing it in the dumpster would delay or prevent discovery of his unsouled status long enough until he was pulled from this timeframe or altered it. 

Licking his lips and belching loudly, he paused for a moment to savor the warmth rushing through his frame. The blood had been terrific and all his wounds had healed. Now, however, he had another problem. The red stuff was flowing straight to his nether regions and causing a rise of the old Adam. He had to, ahem, find a way to relieve the tension. Seeing Buffy at the Bronze, smelling her scent, having her within his reach and being able to do nothing about it had been frustrating in the extreme. The blood he'd taken had made him high as a kite and hornier than a teenaged virgin at a Sharon Stone movie. 

He ran silent as a ghost until he could find another secluded out-of-the-way spot. He found a stand of trees fairly close together and some distance from the street. They'd provide ample cover. He cast an eye about to see if he had company and then unzipped his pants. 

Closing his eyes, he settled in for a good wank while he thought about the time he'd had sex with Buffy against a tree in her very own front yard. That bit of sport had had the elements of the dangerous and forbidden. The idea that he could have the Slayer on her own turf right under the noses of her neighbors had been a sick, erotic little thrill, one he'd replayed in his mind over and over again. Only the time on the balcony of the Bronze had topped it.

He bit his lip and stroked harder, murmuring to himself. "Yeah, Slayer. That's it. Oh, you've got the best mouth, you have. Just like that, Goldilocks. Harder, Buffy, harder!"

"Spike?" He gave a yelp and nearly tripped over his lowered pants as he tried simultaneously to tuck himself back in and turn on the unexpected intruder. Damn this town, a bloke couldn't even wank off in peace!

"Drusilla! Pet, what are you doing out? You know you're too weak to travel." What the hell were those minions thinking, letting her wander around loose in her condition? Mentally, he made a note to stake that useless ponce Lucius when he got back to the lair. He zipped up his pants and squinted at her. How had she gotten this far into town anyways? That delivery boy must have been more of a pick-me-up than he'd thought.

Her eyes drilled into him, madness making them gleam with a peculiar intensity. "You're not my Spike," she said flatly and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. 

Holding out his hands to her, he crooned in the gentle, soothing tones he reserved for her alone, "Pet, you're not well. You shouldn't be out here. Let me take you back to the others."

She drifted away from him, hugging herself as if she felt cold, and started swaying from side to side. Her eyes became unfocused while she stared at him as if seeing invisible things hovering over his face. "Not of this world, time out of mind, got the Slayer in his head, making him blind," she sang. 

Sod it all. She knew. His princess always had the gift of second sight and somehow she knew he wasn't the same monster who'd fallen in love with her. It was vital for him to remain calm and get her back to the lair where she'd be out of harm's way. "Nice one, luv. But you can save the poetry for later. We've got to get you back to our new digs." He reached for her again only to pause when she hissed at him.

"You're lying. Miss Edith told me my Spike is gone. Got a soul; lost a soul. You've had others whispering in your ears. You've had things stuck in your brain. Fire and cinders were floating around you. You've got your mind full of her. Full of the Slayer, you have. That's why you're here. No dancing in the sweet liquor of this one, oh no. He thinks he can save her. Thinks he'll get Heaven all tied up in pretty ribbons and handed to him on a platter. He doesn't care about his little poppet any more. My knight's left his Drusilla." Her face crumpled and she started weeping, a high-pitched wail that rose in pitch and volume until dogs in the distance began howling.

"Now that's just not true, my dainty black plum." The noise didn't abate; she would attract attention soon, supernatural or otherwise. There was no use for it. He was going to have to knock her out if he was going to handle her. As if sensing his intention she turned and began running away from him. Hell and damn. He hoofed it after her, determined to catch her before she did something stupid. But the erection throbbing away in his pants was still there, a powerful physical ache to match the pains he'd received earlier, and every step he took only exacerbated the pain.

"Drusilla! Come back, pet! It's not true. I love you!" he cried after her. Instead of slowing, his voice seemed to act as a spur, driving her onwards. She veered into one of the cemeteries and he cursed silently. With his bad luck, they'd probably run into the Slayer again on one of her patrols. Somehow he didn't think she'd buy a story about Drusilla having a soul. The mad vampire was also running faster than she should have been able to, given her weakened condition. She was slowly but steadily pulling away from him and he redoubled his speed, trying to narrow the gap between them. 

She wasn't listening to his pleas and finally he lunged at her in a desperate attempt to bring her down. He collided with her fragile form and the two of them crashed to the ground. She twisted under him, screaming and flailing at him with her fists. She was stronger than expected and he had to grab both wrists to keep her from clawing out his eyes. One knee was jabbed with brutal force into his crotch. The agony coupled with his only slightly flagging hard-on was too much. He doubled over, the pain so intense he literally couldn't speak, and she wriggled out of his reach.

"What have we here? The Billy Idol rip-off is attacking a helpless girl. Golly, sorta pokes holes in that 'I've got a soul' speech you were making earlier. What do you think, Angel?"

He looked up to see a pair of expensive boots just at eye level. Buffy was standing over him, stake in hand, looking decidedly happy to see him and not in a good way. Angel was standing a little farther off. Drusilla was purring and trying to cuddle up to him, something Buffy didn't miss. Spike was delighted, both at the uncomfortable look on his Grandsire's face as he tried to ward off the clinging lunatic and the jealousy he could see in Buffy's eyes.

"Come along, pet. Angelus doesn't want to play with you tonight. You'll just have to have him tie you up and spank you some other time," he called out and smirked when he saw Angel glare at him.

"Angel? What's he talking about? And who is she?" Her gaze sharpened and Spike could see her Slayer sense kick in as she gave Drusilla a closer look. "She's a vampire, isn't she?" Buffy asked, her eyes swinging between the peroxide blond and the brunette vampire trying to stroke her boyfriend.

"That she is, luv. One of Angelus's very own get. Slayer, meet Drusilla, Angelus's mad Childe," Spike said in a mockingly polite tone.

"And don't forget, your Sire, Spike," Angel growled. "And what's this I hear about your having a soul?" Dark eyes bored into his skull and Spike inwardly quailed. "You don't have a soul, Spike. What kind of game are you playing?" the tall vampire said, absently grabbing Drusilla by the arm so she couldn't escape.

"Do too! Don't listen to him, Buffy. He's just lying out of jealousy," Spike flung out in desperation. This was all bollixed up. His Buffy had been a lot readier to believe him after he'd been with her for awhile. This Buffy was a clueless bint with her head stuck too far up the great poof's rectum to listen to anything he had to say.

"Buffy, believe me. He doesn't have a soul. I can see it in his eyes." Angel sniffed in Spike's direction and growled. "He also reeks of human blood. He's fed on humans and recently, too, by the smell of him. Isn't that right, Drusilla?" Actually, Angel was smelling something more than Spike's usual aggression towards himself and his hunger for Slayers. There was a heavy scent of lust in the air and it wasn't coming from just Drusilla. He sniffed in Spike's direction again and his eyes narrowed.

"Yes, my prince brought me a tasty little snack, all warm and singing with delicious jam running through him. He licked the lollipop after me and crunched it down to the chewy center." Drusilla giggled insanely and Buffy rolled her eyes at the idiotic chatter.

Angel nodded grimly. "Drusilla may be mad but she wouldn't lie about that, Buffy. You have to be careful with Spike. He's got an obsession about Slayers. He's killed one of them already. That's probably why he's in Sunnydale—to make you number two." 

"Actually, I killed two. You've really been out of the loop since you got that soul, eh, Angelus?" Spike bragged. Too late, he realized that wasn't the best thing to let slip when you had an armed Slayer in your presence.

Buffy's head whipped around and she clutched her stake. "Is that right? So I guess all that talk about bringing me home to meet your folks was, what? Your clumsy attempt at a trap? How stupid do you think I am?"

Given that she'd walked into Caleb's little vineyard with barely a second thought, Spike thought she was being rather full of herself. "That wasn't a lie, lu—Buffy. I really wanted you to help me kill those minions. Why else would I have asked you to bring the pep squad along with you?"

"Maybe you thought they'd make good appetizers for your vampy friends. Don't worry; if they're as dumb as you, I shouldn't have any trouble flushing them out." She glanced at Angel holding the struggling Drusilla and frowned. "Shouldn't you be staking her already?"

"That's right, Angelus. Go ahead and stake her. It's not like you care about her. It's your fault she's completely balmy. She didn't ask to be made a vampire. But you stalked her, drove her crazy and turned her just so she'd continue to suffer forever. Then, when I came along, you dumped her in my lap so I could take care of her when you were too bored to bother." Spike was eager to take the opportunity to plant the seeds of doubt in Buffy's mind about her boyfriend. Let's see how much of a champion she thought Angel was when she learned the truth about him. 

Disbelief flooded Buffy's eyes as she looked at Drusilla. The creature may have been mad but she was all over Angel, her purrs louder and more pronounced as she gazed adoringly into his eyes. "Ooh, my Daddy is here. But he's not the same. He's been changed just like my knight. Horrid thing a soul is. My sweet William is going to get one, too. Aren't you, my lamb? Going to get a dirty little soul to scamper and itch all over his skin." 

She peered over at Spike and giggled, the tinkling sound floating eerily in the night air. Then she eyed Buffy. "Careful, Slayer. He's after you. Wants to lick and croon in your ears dark little lullabies, he does. He'll make you howl for him and bring it all crashing down around your head."

Her face shifted and she hissed. "But you can't have him. He's my prince!" She lunged towards Buffy only to stagger as Angel staked her in the back. The madwoman fell to the ground, wide eyes trained on her Sire. "Daddy?" she whispered. Then there was nothing left of her save an outline in ashes on the moldy graveyard dirt.

Spike experienced a brief pang of loss as he witnessed her demise. "Bye, Dru. It's been fun." Then he shrugged and turned away—only to find the Slayer in front of him.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked in dulcet tones. And then the stake was shoved into his chest.

"Crap!" Spike staggered and grabbed at his chest. His eyes searched his torso and he frowned. "Wait a minute…"

"Well, well, well. Look who's back." Spike looked up and despair crashed down on him. He was in the Waiting Room again and the three-eyed female behind her partition had a twisted smile on her face as she faced him. "Come back for more, have you?"

He marched up to the desk only halting when he saw the familiar threatening blankness settle over her face. "Oy! You there. I have to get back to my caseworker."

The malicious glee she'd shown at his reappearance had flown away to be replaced by her usual indifference. "Fine. You have to get another ticket and wait your turn to be called again."

"Now hang on! I'm not waiting around here again! I need to see my caseworker, Xork-What's-His-Face and I need to see him now!" Spike couldn't take another eternity of waiting in this place.

The three eyes rolled in her head as she heaved a sigh. "Sir, we all have a tremendous workload to deal with here, in case you haven't noticed. Your caseworker has many other cases to handle not just yours. You'll just have to grab a number and wait your turn again." She pointed towards the dispenser and screeched out, "NEXT!"

Spike grabbed his number (again obscenely long) and threw himself down in the nearest chair. It looked like he was doomed to another eternity of waiting until he was called again. He didn't bother looking up as other beings were catapulted, shot into or fell into the waiting area. Like the other miserable wretches in this place, he had no energy left to spare for anything or anybody but himself.

"Sod it, I don't even know if everything worked out all right," he mumbled to himself.

_"He is changed to a god he who looks on her,_

_godlike he shines when he's seated beside her,_

_immortal joy to gaze and hear the fall of_

_her sweet laughter..._

_Limbs are pierced with fire and the heavy tongue fails,_

_ears resound with noise of distant storms shaking_

_this earth, eyes gaze on stars that fall forever_

_into deep midnight._

_This languid madness destroys you…,_

_long day and night shall be desolate, broken,_

_as long ago ancient kings and rich cities_

_fell into ruin."_ – Gaius Valerius Catullus, no. 51 of The Poems of Catullus, translated by Horace Victor Gregory

TBC


	4. The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

_"The hardest trial of the heart is, whether it can bear a rival's failure without triumph." – Conrad Aiken_

Xork peeled a blue fruit with one hand, crunched into it with his teeth and began noisily munching the slippery fruit inside the rind. "Well, Mr. Speck, that didn't go at all well, did it?" he mumbled, his mouth full as he slobbered, bits of sticky flesh dripping onto his fur.

  
Spike was once again slouched in the chair in front of that self-important weasel while Xork evaluated his efforts. "No, it didn't, thanks to you."

A spectacular burp burst from the chewing lips. Then Xork peered at him quizzically. "I, Mr. Speck? How did I ruin things?"

"You set me right down in the car while I was driving! What if I'd wrecked the car? Could have bloody killed me, you ponce!" He scowled furiously at the unapologetic hobbit.

Xork belched again and shrugged. "You said you wanted to return on the day of your first appearance in Sunnydale. You were none too specific about the details."

Spike could tell nothing from Xork's face as to whether the creature was winding him up or not. "So I take it nothing changed," he groused. He looked away in disgust as the creature took another bite. Judging by the number of rinds in the garbage and the half-full basket beside the desk, the hairball had had a number of the unidentifiable fruit and wasn't done yet.

  
Xork finished the fruit and threw the remains into the garbage. He let out a sonorous burp, the stink from his breath wafting across the desk into the vampire's face. Picking up another fruit and peeling it, he said, "On the contrary, quite a great deal changed. Your warning served to get the vampire you hated out of town. He was fearful of the harm his presence might cause the Slayer should his dreaded demonic half become dominant. So he left her in spite of all her protests and pleas."

  
At that news, the vampire grinned, a fierce gleam lighting his eyes. "That's the best news I've heard in ages, Mork. Every coffin has a silver lining, I always say."

  
The ears waggled amid the barren expanse of scalp. "Mmm. But without him the Slayer was left vulnerable for the Teraka assassins."

  
"What? Them? Wait, I remember them. Dru and I called them to take down the Slayer. If me and Dru got staked, then they should never have come to Sunnydale. What the hell are you trying to pull, Xork!?" Spike took up a menacing stance over the desk. 

  
Those beady red eyes stared at him, completely at ease, unruffled by his anger. "You and your crazy girlfriend were not the only demons who got the bright idea of hiring mercenaries to do their dirty work. The assassins managed to do what you could not. Even with the help of her friends, the Slayer was too demoralized to do her job properly." Xork took a big bite and the slurping noises filled the room.  
  
"You mean…those bastards killed her?" Spike's throat closed up and then he shook his head in negation. "No, no. That couldn't have happened. She was too tough to be taken by the likes of them even without the poofster by her side."

  
Xork didn't speak for a moment as he digested his meal. Discarding the rind from this one, he wiped his fingers on his fur and belched, an unexpectedly raucous sound in the small chamber. "You're quite right. They didn't manage to kill her. But they injured her severely. She was already demoralized by the loss of her champion and after her injury, something inside her never quite recovered. She was eventually replaced by the next Slayer in line, a very able-bodied Slayer indeed. But, alas, she didn't work well with others the way the last guardian of the Hellmouth did. She was killed in her second year's tenure as Slayer. So the Slayer you knew was forced to take the reins again."

  
"That's my girl," Spike said. "So, if Buffy took over again, then everything turned out okay, didn't it?" The grave expression on Xork's face didn't waver and his heart sank within him again. 

  
Xork shook his head. "I'm afraid not. She died facing Glorificus, just as she did in your timeline. When she was brought back, she died once more facing a member of that triad—what was his name?" He typed up something on the screen. "Warden Meyers."

  
Spike was beginning to wonder if his ears were going or if the oversized rodent just had a problem with proper names. "That's Warren Meers."

  
"That's what I said," Xork snapped.

  
Spike closed his eyes and counted to ten before opening them and speaking again. "That's even more impossible. She fought off hellgods, supernatural assassins, enormous reptiles and demons only to get offed at the hands of that little twat? I don't believe it."

  
"Believe it. It seems that when she first fought him he had magical orbs that gave him super strength. She was informed about them by one of his own henchmen and smashed them, destroying the source of his power. After that, she defeated him quite handily. However, in the altered timestream you created, the mortal who would have saved her life with his warning was no longer there. No mortal aid, no intervention. No intervention, dead Slayer. The First rose as it had in the original timestream only this time there was no Slayer to meet it. It unleashed its army and now Hell reigns on Earth."

  
The red eyes were gazing steadily at him; Spike almost couldn't bring himself to go on. "W-who was the bloke who warned her?"

  
"I believe you know him as one Jonathan Levinson." The way Xork pronounced the name made it sound like Jambalaya Leek Soup. Then he said something that completely floored the vampire. "You killed him on your first journey back."

  
"I did?" Shit, he remembered. The little twerp he'd dragged into the alley, the one who'd smelled faintly familiar—he was one of the guys he'd met when he'd had Warren test his chip. He had forgotten all about the insignificant little blighter. "Are you telling me because I killed one miserable waste of a human being that the world's been destroyed?"

  
"It wasn't just one 'miserable waste of a human being' as you so crassly put it, Mr. Speck. There were two, were there not?" In spite of the fur surrounding his eyes, Xork managed to look quite forbidding. "As I believe I told you before, it's all one big tapestry. Unravel one thread and any number may come loose as a result."  
  
Spike sank into his chair. "So I destroyed the world this time?" He couldn't avoid the thought that it was more than Angelus managed to do.

  
If Xork saw that on the screen, he made no comment about it. "Actually no. The world was not destroyed, Mr. Speck. Your interference caused a great deal more damage this time around but that alternate reality truly exists. It is an ashpit and demons reign supreme there because the First arose but it does exist—or rather it would have. The higher powers can wipe it out and send you in for your second try if you wish." Xork shifted in his seat and let out an explosive fart. He grinned sheepishly in Spike's direction. "Sorry about that. Those pralixian pears really pack a wallop."

  
This time the stench didn't concern the vampire, not after the news he'd just been handed. Spike sat down, trying to keep his hands from shaking. That was alright, then; he still had four tries to fix things and make it square with the higher muck-a-mucks running this joint. "Why didn't you tell me that before then? That I can't kill people?"

  
"Because that's not true. You can kill people, Mr. Speck. Can as in you have the ability to do so. As I said, you were returned with all the faculties you possessed at the moment of re-entry. As a vampire you are perfectly capable of taking a life. There is nothing in the rules about acting according to your true nature. In fact, part of the evaluation process is that we see you in your true colors—all of them." Xork flashed one of his toothy grins, this one tinged with a distinct air of satisfaction.

  
Spike wasn't about to rise to the bait. He needed help if he was going to come out on top and avoid becoming the bitch for every demon with a yen to pound vampire flesh. So he pressed Xork for more info. "But I'd better not kill a human 'cause every one I take might muck up things further down the line, is that it?"   
  
"That would appear to be a logical conclusion." Xork let out another blast of gas from his nether regions. "However, some humans would have a greater impact on the timeline than others. I doubt very much whether the life or death of one delivery boy would matter much in the grand scheme of things. Yet since few people remain in the service of fast food delivery all their lives and go on to other things, there's no telling what the removal of any one such person might do. It's all a gigantic ripple effect, you see. Every action has consequences—especially murder."

  
The vampire's jaw clenched at the prissy explanation and the nasty smell. "Then why the hell didn't you say that before I went in the first time!?!"

  
"You didn't ask. And I assumed it would be a natural assumption for you to make, seeing as you're so intelligent and all…at least, you're intelligent sometimes." Xork settled back into his chair and began humming tunelessly as if this line of conversation no longer interested him.

  
It took all the vampire's will power not to wrap his fingers around that hairy throat and squeeze. As soon as he found an opportunity, he was going to vent his rage on a convenient item of furniture or piece of public property. When he finally spoke it was the exaggerated care of someone who was nearly at the end of his tether. "Fine. I'm going in again, then."

  
Xork flexed all twelve of his fingers. "Very well. What's your next time stop?"

_"Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive." - Sir Walter Scott_

Spike was certain this plan would work. He had all the elements on his side. It was Halloween. The Slayer and her friends would be certain to believe vampire activity to be at a minimum and wouldn't take the proper precautions. He knew where he could find the Slayer and that her friends would be pretty much useless given what they were wearing.

Now, all he had to do was find and intimidate one pesky sorceror…

"C'mon, pet. Tell me," he murmured coaxingly. Drusilla was much more compliant this time around. But she was still pretty addled, losing her train of thought and mumbling about how Miss Edith needed her tea. Honestly, if the doll didn't make her happy most of the time, he would have given in to his impulse a dozen times over to chuck the bloody thing into the ocean.

"Tell me what makes the Slayer weak, pet. Anything that weakens her makes things better for us. Don't you know that? I'll bring her down. I'll carve your name into her back. You'll wear her intestines as a necklace, my sweet." He was getting sick inside just thinking of doing stuff like this to his beloved Buffy. But he had to sweet-talk Drusilla into giving up the location of that sorcerer if he was going to use the man as he wished.

Finally, after an endless round of singing and playing teatime with that stupid dolly, Drusilla had told him what he needed to know. He wasn't given an actual address; his poor addled plum was too softheaded for that. But there had been poetic references to various landmarks that he recognized. Finding this character should be a breeze. Then, with his costume, he'd spirit away the Slayer and take care of that meddling ponce Angel once and for all.

Ethan had closed up early and made certain the door was locked. He didn't want the ceremony to be interrupted. The god of chaos was fickle at best and needed constant, unwavering devotion if he was to gremain true to his followers. And Ethan Rayne prided himself on being true servant to his dark lord.

He knelt down in front of the statue and picked up his knife. Suddenly there was a loud, persistent knocking at the door. "Oh, for the love of—!" He cried out petulantly. The ritual needed absolute absorption and concentration. He didn't want to wind up nicking a vein. He sat back on his heels and waited for the would-be customer to take the bloody hint and go away.

But, if anything, the drumming became louder and more persistent. He could hear the wood rattling in its hinges. Whoever was out there was certainly determined. He sighed and then jumped to his feet in alarm as he heard glass shatter. What the hell? Was he being robbed? 

He picked up a heavy bat and shrank silently behind the door. Ethan Rayne wasn't necessarily a coward. All right, he was a big fat coward and he knew this town's reputation. He didn't think monsters were a threat on Halloween but perhaps it was merely a human mugger. In which case, if he just stayed out of sight and kept mum, the man might content himself with rifling the cashbox and not bother investigating the rest of the store.

He strained his ears but he couldn't really make out any noise. For all the hullabaloo this person had made at the front door, they were being unnervingly silent now. He risked a peek around the door only to be confronted by a bleached blonde male with a knowing smirk plastered on his mug.

"There you are. Was wondering when you were comin' out. You're Ethan Rayne, ain' cha?" The man pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and nonchalantly lit it in clear violation of the "No Smoking" sign posted.

"Um, y-yes, I'm Rayne. But as you can see, we're closed." 

"Not any more, mate." The creature gestured breezily towards the front entryway. Rayne stepped out to the front of the store and halted in dismay. The door had been torn practically off its hinges. He swallowed hard and looked at the deceptively small man. The other bloke grinned at him. The expression wasn't particularly reassuring.

"Sorry about the door. But I've heard such wonderful things about this place. I just had to take a look-see for myself." He swung an arm around Rayne, paying no attention to the mortal's cringing. "See, I've heard this rumor goin' round that your costumes are special, that they bring out the inner you. Know whut I'm sayin'?" He puffed smoke into the air and Rayne was emboldened enough to protest.

"Excuse me, you really mustn't smoke. These costumes…" Hse waved his hands at the various fabrics swaying in the air. "Well, they're flammable, some of them. Wouldn't want to start a fire, would we?"

The man gave him a speculative look as if that was exactly what he'd like to do and Rayne felt his skin crawl slightly. "Hmm. Guess that would be a problem. I'll keep it in mind." He dropped the lit cigarette to the floor and ground it out deliberately on the tiling. "Now I'd like one of your costumes only I want it done to precise specifications, you unnerstand? In short, I don't want to lose my memory of who I am like everybody else."

The crawling sensation of his skin increased. Somehow this creature knew everything: who and what Rayne was and what delicious trick he'd had planned for tonight. Was this man a foe or a potential ally? His manner was slightly ingratiating but with an edge that said he was fully capable of unleashing violence if he was crossed. He hedged, playing ignorant, stalling for time. "Um, magic c-costumes? You want a tuxedo and a trick cane? I've got those along with a magic kit if that's your thing."

The other man rolled his eyes. "Don't waste my time with the playing dumb crap, Rayne. I know who you are and what your pretty clothings do. I want to give me a certain costume and I want you to alter the spell slightly. You waste my time…" and he yanked Rayne towards teeth that had grown elongated into fangs and glared at him from yellow eyes. "…and I'll show you firsthand how I got the nickname _Spike."_

Spike raced lightly through the streets. Sod it to hell, he hoped none of his demon mates saw him in this ridiculous getup. Green was definitely not his color. It tended to make him look pale, washed out and sallow. Also, the memory's of the costume's character were riding uneasily on the top of his own, making for an unsteady mix at best. The legend's innate decency and temperament were at war with his own savagery and he had to fight down the urge to feast on some of the delectable teens he saw strolling around in their skimpy costumes.

However, it hadn't prevented him from ripping into the sorcerer's neck and feasting on his blood when the spell was complete. He didn't believe Rayne's death would cause any significant alteration of the timeline. He'd heard ole Rupert natter on hatefully about the man once when Rayne had turned him into that Fyarl demon so he knew Rayne was more of a petty mischief maker than a serious wheeler and dealer of the black arts. He was truly insignificant. What damage could his death do?

He'd also nicked that statue of Janus and hidden it in one of Sunnydale's many handy crypts just to be on the safe side. Giles would be a long time finding it, if ever. Unfortunately, with the statue stashed away, Sunnydale's demonized tots would wreak mayhem. It was a shame really (not that he had any real problems with little demons running amuck in Sunnyhell), but it was only for one night and, when his task was completed, he'd break the statue himself and everything would be all sorted. By that time, Buffy would be alone and he'd be well underway to being her comforter and protector.

Spike heard a scream as he neared Buffy's house and smiled to himself. "Right. Showtime." He ducked into the bushes in time to see her come flying out of the house. She was positively scrumptious in that low-cut dress and didn't she look the picture holding up the hem so that her stockinged legs could run unimpeded? He waited until she came charging blindly past his spot and reached out to catch her around the waist and clapped his hand over her mouth.

"Mmrghggh!" Her hazel eyes, wide and shining with terror, looked up into his and he smiled reassuringly at her. She struggled in his grip, however, maddened beyond reason. 

"Do not fear, lady. You are safe now."

She wrested her mouth away from his hand. "Please! Good sir, we must away. There is a monster, a fiend from hell, in that house and, if we linger, it shall surely devour us both!"

Boy, she was just too cute with that antiquated language. Choking back a smirk, he answered as formally as he could. "Fear not, my lady. I have arrived to rescue you and keep you from those who would harm you."

"You have?" She took a closer look at his garments and her brows scrunched up in the familiar Buffy look of confusion. "But you look…you are…"

"I am, fair one. I am Robin Hood, at your service." Releasing her, he sketched a short bow and began pulling her gently but insistently away from the house.

"Robin Hood? How can that be? My wet nurse told me he was but a legend of olden times, existing in the 12th century and this be the 18th—I believe." She looked perplexed as she surveyed her surroundings, so at odds with the memories her costume imposed on her.

Huh, he hadn't expected her to be familiar with his costume's history and he thought quickly for a lie that would appease her. "You speak truly. I was walking in Sherwood Forest when a mighty wind picked me up and hurled me to this place. I fear some bewitchment has occurred." He smiled at her in an attempt to reassure her. "However, I have my trusty bow with me and you shall not come to harm if I can possibly aid you."

"Buffy!" Angel had left the house and Buffy shrank behind him.

"There he is! The—" Spike clapped his hand over her mouth again. He knew how sharp vampire ears and sense of smell were. Motioning her to be still, he pulled her through Sunnydale's streets, managing to avoid both monsters and humans alike.

Soon she pleaded fatigue. It wasn't really surprising given the heaviness of her garments and her impractical shoes that were not really suitable for long walking. But the Buffy he knew wouldn't have gotten so fagged out after only ten blocks. Still, it made her nicely dependent on him. She leaned more and more against his side until she was practically falling into his arms. "Please, brave Sir Robin. I cannot take another step. I must rest," she begged.

It was odd. He was starting to feel a little tired as well. He brushed aside the sensation to concentrate on the lovely lady with him. "Very well. I think we have lost the monster for the time being." In the distance he could hear screams and the sounds of glass being broken. The chivalrous nature of his costume was screaming at him to fly to the aid of men and women in need but he ignored it. Robin Hood had been about scoring loot anyways, not being a bloody do-gooder, and Spike didn't give a damn about the others. Who did this costume think he was?

"I am so famished. Might there be some food nearby? I don't suppose you could forage in the woods for sustenance? I wouldn't mind a rabbit." She smiled coquettishly at him and he smirked—er, smiled back at her. She was being wheedling, like Dru when she wanted him to play dollies with her, and it was simply adorable. However, he hoped she wouldn't be too demanding. He was going to need all his concentration for the job at hand.

"Maybe I could double back, see if I can score me some candy, luv."

He realized his mistake when she frowned at him. "Robin? What happened to your voice? It became rough and uncouth for a moment. Are you afflicted with the ague?"

He struggled to recover his more posh accent. "Ague? Nay, I do not believe it to be so. Perhaps it is a part of the bewitchment." In order to divert her attention, he asked, "Do you know, lady, in the midst of all this cursed confusion, I did not think to ask your name?"

"Oh, where are my manners? Lady Sophia Huntington of Shropshire." She extended her hand and he caught it and kissed it, looking into her eyes all the while. Buffy flushed and smiled back at him. He could hear her heartbeat pounding faintly—wait, why was it faint? Was she getting sick from hunger? 

He shook his head. "Tell you what. Let's duck into a deli. I'll pick up some munchies."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Deli? Munchies? I don't know these words."

He patted her on the hand and smiled reassuringly. "Trust me, lu—lady. I'll take care of you." She rewarded him with a tremulous smile and took his arm. 

Spike didn't want to be in the open like this. Every moment they spent around people ran the risk of exposure. Buffy might run into one of her friends or somebody else who knew her. But she clung to his arm so tightly as they stood in the store, staring fearfully at everything around her.

"I don't like this place, Sir Robin," she complained, her voice shaking as she looked disapprovingly at the teenagers in their skimpy clothes. "The people are so oddly dressed and talk so strangely. I want to go home to my parents."

Spike smiled at the man behind the counter. The guy was squinting at Buffy as if he thought she was off her nut. Luckily he had remembered to carry cash when he changed into this outfit so paying for the food wasn't a problem. He quickly paid for and snatched up the bags of pretzels, chips and peanuts.

They walked through the streets, although he was swift to pull her aside when he smelled or saw trouble. Buffy stayed tightly by his side, shrinking, whenever a demon or monster came into view. Most of them were harmless since their costumes had come from somewhere else than Ethan's shop. But he didn't see any need to tell her that.

Finally, he pulled her into one of Sunnydale's many parks. She collapsed onto a bench and then stared in puzzlement at the shiny bag he tossed her. "Robin, what are these things? What am I to do with it?"

"You peel it open, like so." Taking the bag from her he demonstrated. "Then you just reach in and eat." He held up a chip and popped it into his mouth, grinning at her as he did so. Hesitatingly, she followed his example. Her face twisted as she chewed. "Summat the matter, luv?"

"I-I don't know. It tastes familiar and yet does not. I don't think I quite like it. But I am starved so I suppose it must do." She ate another chip with the same queer grimace. Then she looked  at him silently. 

Finally her gaze made him a little antsy. "What? What's the matter, Bu—Sophia?"

"I don't know. This entire night has been so strange. You've been above kind to me and I don't know how to reward you."

Well, nice to see that Buffy understood the meaning of gratitude even if she was laboring under the delusion of nobility. "That's all right, luv. Being with you is reward enough." Taking a chance he sat down next to her and wound an arm around her shoulders. "You don't know what this means to me—being here with you like this."

Her eyes widened again. That sweet, guileless expression was melting his heart. In his mind, he wondered how much harm it would do to keep her like this. He recalled that other Slayer he'd met when he'd strung that git Angel up to cure Drusilla. Surely they could always bring her in to sub for Buffy if things got too bad. And he'd get to keep this blushing lovely with him.

Buffy had stiffened and pulled back from him slightly. "Sir Robin, I know things may be different in Sherwood. But I must protest such familiarity. We've not been properly introduced and you haven't met my parents—"

"I know all that, luv. But ever since I've met you, I've felt this connection as if we had known one another in a different time or place."

"But what of your Maid Marian? All the stories tell me _she_ is your true love," Buffy pointed out.

"I rescued her, yes, and cherished a fondness for her. But it didn't always feel right, you know? But here and now with you, I can't help but feel drawn to you. Do you, could you, perhaps hold any feeling in your heart for a homeless outlaw?" Spike smiled, the kind of ingenuous, open smile he practiced to get people to invite him into their homes. 

Sophia's eyelids fluttered and her breath came faster. There was something delightfully thrilling in the idea of running away with a famous outlaw. He was quite handsome, too, with his fair hair spilling out from under his green cap and his shining blue eyes that looked on her so lovingly. She didn't think she knew any man so captivating. And he had saved her from the beast after all and procured her food.

"I-I don't know," she answered, biting her pretty lip. "I barely know you and we have only just met." Her protests became feebler as he drew her closer and died away completely as he kissed her. 

If there was one thing Spike had learned to do well in his 120-odd years, it was kissing. He lipped all around her mouth and teased it open with the barest tip of his tongue. He didn't do anything too aggressive. After all, Buffy was still playing the shy maiden. It wouldn't do to frighten her, would it?

He could feel her heart pounding against his and her whole form trembling delightfully in his arms. The kiss deepened and she was melting into him. For several breathless moments, the whole of Sunnydale faded away and nothing mattered except this wonderful, darling creature he'd managed to snare right from the noses of her loved ones.

"Buffy? Buffy, where are you?" The words didn't immediately register. Then he lifted his head with a snarl of disgust. Just then Buffy gave a muffled squeal of fear and pointed a shaking finger. Shit, it was Angel. His head held high, the friggin' ponce loped through the night, his head casting back and forth as he tracked Buffy's scent. Even worse he had the Donut Boy with him.

Spike cursed and pulled Buffy into the shadows, raising his bow. Damn, how had Angel and the whelp gotten so close without him hearing them? The street behind them was wide open and quiet. They could try to make a run for it but the vampire would surely hear and catch them before they got too far, especially burdened as they were with Buffy's outfit.

Sure enough, Angel's eyes widened and his head swiveled towards the darkened corner of the park where they were hiding. Motioning Buffy to be quiet, Spike raised his bow and pulled back the string.

Angel was coming closer, having scented Buffy. There seemed to be another odor with her but it was off, not immediately recognizable. He heard Xander stealthily moving behind him, questioning him in a whisper about the oddly dressed civilian female. What was going on? Buffy was acting like a cringing cowardly female and Xander like a commanding officer. He had to admit the boy exuded a surprising confidence. But where was it coming from?

He turned his head slightly to tell Xander he'd scented Buffy and Spike let the arrow fly. The shot was true and the wooden projectile buried itself neatly in Angel's back between his shoulderblades. The souled vampire stiffened and Soldier Xander watched in shock as the man he'd been following burst into powder and scattered on the wind. 

As the ashes blew away he saw the culprit. A man dressed in a ludicrous green jersey with spandex tights was wielding a bow and grabbing the defenseless, crazed female he'd seen earlier. He wasn't sure what had just happened. He only knew one of his comrade-in-arms had been killed before his eyes. He brought up the M-16 and sighted along the barrel.

To Lady Sophia, the evening had been one long hideous nightmare. The only true thing she'd known was the chivalrous gentleman who had rescued her and protected her from the monsters. The musket the other man in green was holding in his arms was unfamiliar in shape but still she knew it was a weapon.

"NO!" She screamed and threw herself in front of Robin Hood just as Xander pulled the trigger.

"Buffy!" Spike yelled. The gunshot was startlingly loud and he saw her body jerk backwards before she crumpled into his arms. 

She peered down at her dress in stupefaction as blood began to pour out of the small bullet wound. "Oh, Robin. Forgive…me." She coughed and he watched helplessly as small sprays of blood shot from her mouth. "I'm…I could not let him harm you after…" She quivered and her head lolled lifelessly against his chest.

Xander Harris cursed himself. He hadn't meant to shoot the female only the armed male with her. Why had she jumped in the way like that? She'd struck him as being rather crazed but he hadn't known it would go this far. The next moment, the man dressed like a Renaissance fair reject leaped up snarling and charged him. His face was twisted with savage hatred. Harris could see the urge to kill in his eyes and this time he didn't miss. 

Spike laughed as the bullets ripped into him. Sure, they hurt like hell but he wasn't going to let a little lead stop him. Then blinding weakness swept through his body and he staggered and fell to the ground. What? Why couldn't he stand? He tried to take a ragged breath and realized he needed to breathe. Pressing his hand to his chest, he was shocked to feel the blood pulsing out of him for all the world as if he had—

A heartbeat. He could feel it surging under his palm, throbbing under the red tide rapidly leaving his body. But how could that be? All too late he realized. It must be the costume. When he'd assumed the Robin Hood personae, he'd taken on the mortality as well. That damned sorcerer had tricked him. Shit, if Spike hadn't killed him already, he would have tracked him down and tortured him as slowly and as painfully as he could.

Damn that Angelus, damn him to hell. He'd sought to get rid of the threat of that monster and wound up losing his beloved. The world was wavering in and out of coherency, the screams in the distance getting fainter as Spike struggled to drag himself back to Buffy's corpse. She lay crumpled on the dirt where he'd left her, her pale arm flung out as if trying to reach for him. He extended one trembling hand and collapsed, unable to reach her fingers.

Ghost Willow ran up to Xander and stared, aghast, at the grim sight in front of her. "Xander? Oh, god. What did you do?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. She just jumped in front of the gun. Damn stupid thing for her to do." Soldier Xander sighed heavily and turned from the ugly spectacle of the man and woman lying on the ground.

Tears welled up in Willow's eyes. She hadn't realized she could cry in this form. She hadn't seemed to be able to do anything except walk through walls and bark orders. She heard more screaming and bit down on her bottom lip hard. She couldn't help Buffy. But maybe she could still help the others. Giles was searching for that Rayne guy even now. Until he found him, it was up to her and Xander to try and keep the peace.

"Soldier, I-I'm afraid there are civilians who'll need our help. We'd better get going." There, her voice hardly stuttered at all. Pausing for a moment, she added gently, "I know you don't remember that woman. But trust me, she was a friend. We should find a secure place to store her body until it can be properly buried."

"What about him?" he said, gesturing to the other.

Willow looked at the man in lincoln green and walked around to stare at him. Recognizing his face, she said, "Spike?"

"You knew him? Was he a friend, too?"

"Hardly. I don't get it. G-Giles told me vampires hate Halloween. Why is he dressed up?" She peered closer. "And why is there blood? He shouldn't be bleeding o-or dead." She looked fearfully at Xander. "H-he is dead isn't he?"

"As a doornail, ma'am. He tried to attack me and I shot him. He also killed the man who was with me. He shot him with an arrow and the guy just turned into dust. Dammedest thing I ever saw." 

"He killed Angel?" Willow noted the bow and arrows lying discarded near Buffy's body and her eyes hardened. "That asshole. Fine. Just leave him here. Buffy's the only one we need to worry about."

No, her voice hardly shook at all. They would get through this night and restore order. For Buffy's sake, they had to. If the Slayer were around, that's what she would want them to do and, now that she was not, it was important that they carry on without her. Willow held her head up as Xander carefully cradled Buffy's limp body and she marched along behind him. If her eyes were blurry, if tears were shed, they never hit the ground or stopped her steady march.

They were only ghost tears, after all.

_"But O the heavy change, now thou art gone,_

_Now thou art gone and never must return!" – John Milton, Lycidas_

TBC


	5. Love At Second Glance

"We pledged our hearts, my love and I, — 

_I in my arms the maiden clasping;_

_I could not guess the reason why,But, oh! I trembled like an aspen." – Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "The_

Exchange"

The Waiting Room was worse than ever this time. He found himself plagued by a pair of twins. He didn't know what they were only that they were short like dwarves but infinitely more irritating. They flailed their tentacles and talked to each other and to him incessantly in a kind of high-pitched whine that buzzed along his nerves until he thought he'd lose his mind. He was actually thrilled to get away from them to see Xork.

He held up his hands and cut off the furry hairball before he could speak. "Right. No need to tell me where I messed up. I died and Buffy bit the big one with demons running amok all over Sunnyhell. Just spare me the lecture 'cause I know where I'm headed next."

Xork rocked back and forth and his fingers flew over the keys. 

  
Spike found himself on his knees in front of Buffy. What—? Were they about to shag again? No, wait, he recognized this place and knew what he was about to do. He looked into Buffy's eyes and felt himself seized with such a passion it was a wonder his heart didn't explode. He held up his skull ring and asked, "Buffy Summers. Will you do me the honor, the supreme joy, of being my wife?"

  
Buffy blushed and stammered. God, she was so cute when she did that. Part of him knew this was just a spell that Red had cooked up. But the other part couldn't care less. Buffy was looking at him with an adoration and love he'd never seen in her even in his last moments with her when the Sunnydale was falling into the dust.

  
She graced him with a radiant smile accompanied by a melting, dewy expression in her hazel eyes. "It's just so sudden. I don't know what to say."

  
He tried to remember what he'd said next. "Just say yes and make me the happiest man on earth."  
  
"Oh Spike. Of course it's yes!" She leaped at him and gave him a passionate fervent kiss. Her heart raced and fluttered against his chest and her vanilla scent was all around him and he couldn't remember the last time he'd experienced such giddy bliss. Buffy loved him and all was right with the world. For these precious moments, nothing else mattered. So what if it was just a spell? 

  
He wanted nothing more than to bask in the warmth of her affection and hold the Slayer in his arms forever. But he knew it wouldn't last. He had to get to Red and talk to her before she canceled the whole thing and put him and the Slayer back to square one. He needed the Slayer firmly at his side if he was to make sure she didn't die and need resurrecting this time around.

  
He unwound Buffy's arms from around his neck and gazed into her adoring hazel eyes. "Um, Buffy, luv."

  
"Yes, Spike?" She said his name with such loving tenderness it was all he could do to make himself go on.

  
"There's something I need to do, pet. Just a little matter I need to take care of."

  
"You're leaving?" There was such a hurt, shocked tone in her voice. It made him want to pet and comfort her just the way he used to do to Drusilla whenever she was feeling low.

  
"Just for a little bit. I have to go talk to Willow about something important." He wasn't prepared for the reaction he got.

  
"Willow? Why do you have to see her?" Now her eyes had turned stormy and he realized that she was jealous. Jealous of Willow! It would have been almost funny if the matter hadn't been so urgent.

  
He was quick to reassure her. "It's not like that, luv. It's not what you're thinking."

  
She brightened again. "Oh good. 'Cause Willow's my best friend and we share a lot. But you're not on the list. I hope she realizes that."

  
"I wholeheartedly agree. Thinking of you with Spike is bad enough." That weary voice came from the sofa. Spike turned his head towards the unwelcome intrusion and scowled when he saw the Watcher sinking slowly into the cushions. 

  
"Giles, Spike and I are getting married!" Buffy crowed in spite of the vampire's attempts to shush her.

  
"Yes, I gathered as much from that appalling display of seeing him on his knees in front of you. Buffy, don't you realize something is terribly wrong here?" Giles probed. "You and Spike were fighting like two cats in a sack moments ago and now you're planning your nuptials! This is ridiculous!"

  
"Well, that was just UST!" Buffy protested.

  
"US what?" Giles asked peevishly. "Is that some form of American mental illness?"

  
Buffy frowned at her Watcher, an expression the older Englishman completely missed. "No. It stands for unresolved sexual tension. I must have been secretly falling for Spike all along. I just couldn't admit it because, hey, me Slayer, him soulless, evil creature of darkness."

  
"Hey, I'm not…" Then he reconsidered. Yes, he was still soulless in this time and still guilt-free about his evil exploits. He looked at the Watcher appraisingly. Would it hurt the timeline too much to have some demon kill the old bloke? He had a feeling it could be done right in front of Buffy and she wouldn't care; she was so besotted with him, thanks to Red's enchantment.

  
The idea was an appealing one and he briefly toyed with the notion before reluctantly abandoned it. If the world became a steaming pile of crap because of that Jonathan's croaking, then he couldn't imagine what the death of a Watcher, Buffy's Watcher, might do to corrupt things. No, he was better off letting the man live. He still had one witch to see.

  
Evidently, Giles had reached the same idea. "About what you said just now, Spike. Why do you want to see Willow?"  
  
"Um, well, I was thinking we could have her as a bridesmaid," Spike lied. "Isn't that right, precious?" he said to Buffy. 

  
She smiled back at him, blazes of light shining deep in her eyes. "That's a wonderful idea! We could have Anya be another bridesmaid."

  
His nose wrinkled at the thought. Since having the ex-demon bint come on to him incessantly after he got his soul, he found he didn't really care for her company all that much. But he couldn't tell that to Buffy, of course. He darted a swift kiss to her lips and returned her smile. "If that's what my honey wants, that's what she gets."

  
"Great! I'll call Willow." She ran to the phone just as he began edging towards the door.

  
"No, let me go and tell her, luv. I just know she'll be so thrilled. You've got other things to do. Besides, I haven't always been nice to her and this is my chance to make amends and apologize."

  
She pouted and ran back to him, throwing her arms around his neck. "Why do we have to be separated? Why can't I go see Willow with you?" 

  
"I think Spike is right, Buffy," the Watcher said, surprising them both. "If the two of you are going to be…" he swallowed audibly before continuing "…married, you need to make preparations such as picking out your dress, getting the caterers, hiring a church, etc., etc." He waved his hand vaguely while staring blindly in their direction. It was obvious he wanted to separate Spike and Buffy but the vampire was perfectly willing to go along with it since it suited his purpose.

  
Spike patted Buffy on the cheek and smiled indulgently at her. "He's right, pet. You go do all those things."

  
Her brows wrinkled. She didn't understand why he didn't want to be involved and why he was leaving so soon after declaring his wish to marry her. Was he getting cold feet already? "Don't you want to help?"

  
"Ah, no. That's girly stuff. I'll just leave it all up to you, luv. I'm sure you'll have perfect taste." He walked over to the door and paused. "However, I'd like it if you didn't use 'Wind Beneath My Winds' as the wedding song." 

  
He shut the door behind him but not in time to avoid hearing her shout, "But that's my favorite song!"  
  
Feeling a shudder run over him, he strode briskly towards Willow's dorm room. If he was lucky, she hadn't thrown up the de-invite spell since the last time he'd been there. Scenting something familiar in the wind, he stiffened and then dove into a bush. It was those Initiative bastards. They were the only ones who could make him scared like this and he trembled in every limb. Spike watched several of them tread clumsily through the surrounding area. The ponces probably thought they were being stealthy. But any self-respecting demon could hear them coming from miles away.

  
Hatred like molten lava boiled in his veins. He wished the wretched chip was out so he could tear into every single one of the bastards and turn them into sticky, bloody, pasty smears on the ground. He gave a tentative sniff; that pillock Riley Finn wasn't with them. Too bad; he might have taken time out of his precious 24 hours to rub the guy's nose in the fact that he'd stolen Buffy right out from under his brawny Irish arse. Spike smirked at the thought and ran off to find Willow. 

  
It was surprisingly easy to find the bint. He could smell her anger and sense the distinct taint of magic in the air coming from her room and slowed down. It wouldn't do to get the witch riled at him or to run into a spell if she was practicing one. So he stood before her door and knocked.

  
"Who is it?" her familiar voice called from inside.

  
"It's me, Red. Could I come in for a sec?"

  
"Oh, it's _you._" Her voice was plainly unfriendly and it seemed he was the cause. Frankly, he was surprised. What had he done to get her so brassed off at him anyhow? He couldn't quite remember what had led her to wish Buffy and him together. Maybe he should find out. Then again, it wasn't really important.

  
He opened the door tentatively and saw her on her bed, kicking her leg. She radiated anger and hostility and he realized he was going to have to tread very carefully until he figured out what was wrong. "Uh, Red. Could I talk to you? It's kinda important." He edged inside and relaxed as he realized that there was no barrier against him. Either the witch was careless or she was confident she could take him. 

  
"Important? And you came to me?" Then she peered at him. "Hey, why aren't you busy being tied up at Giles's? Shouldn't Buffy be pummeling you for information about those army guys?"

  
Inspiration struck. "Yeah, she did. And I know where they are. Buffy could really use your help with them, Red. You know what an important part of the team you are." He gave her a wide smile to indicate his sincerity.   
  
Her eyes narrowed and her voice got low and steely. "What's up, Spike? What did you do?"

  
"Who, me? I didn't do nothing, Red." Jesus, why was she getting so upset? Her anger was rising and he couldn't tell what had gotten her knickers into a twist.

  
"You're being way too nice. And I know you don't think of me as being important. You think me, Xander and Giles are just Buffy's stupid little sidekicks. You're up to something and I'm gonna find out what it is." She lunged for her phone and began dialing up Buffy.

  
Spike protested, "Hang on, Red. It's all above board, I swear." 

  
She ignored him, holding the phone up to her ear. "Hello, Buffy? Listen, I need to tell you…" Her voice trailed off as Buffy's excited chatter burst from the phone. Spike could hear the Slayer's animated voice as she called his name. "Yeah, Spike's here. You knew about that?" She gave him a puzzled look as she listened to the excited voice on the other end. Then her eyes widened. "You and Spike are getting WHAT?!?"  
  
She listened a moment longer, her mouth hanging open and her stunned gaze focused on the vampire standing in her room. "Bridesmaid? Are you kidding me? You're not kidding me. Uh, uh, Buffy, I'm gonna hang up now. Me and the vampire have some talking to do." Without another word, she slammed down the phone and turned to Spike. "I don't believe it. You and Buffy are getting married?"

  
He smiled indulgently at her shocked expression. "Yeah, that's it, Red. I didn't tell you before 'cause, well, I wanted to lead into it gradual like."

  
Her face twisted up, absolutely appalled. "But why would you and Buffy…I mean, it's so sick and degraded. Ewwww. Major ewwww!!"

  
Since when had the redhead been so revolted by him? Offended, he said, "It's not that bad! And what's wrong with me? She was hot for Angel and he was a vampire."

  
"A vampire with a soul," Willow corrected stoutly. "He was a good man. You're an evil, bloodsucking fiend and the only thing that keeps you from biting all our throats out is that chip in your head. That's the truth so don't you dare deny it!" Willow yelled, wagging her finger at him.

  
He strode forward and stood over her where she sat on the bed, glaring at her. She didn't realize how close to the truth she was right now. But he really needed her help so he forced down his anger and tried speaking to her gently. "Look, Red. I don't have time to convince you about this. But, whatever you think about my biting status, I really love Buffy. I'd like nothing better than to marry her and settle down in a little crypt for two."

  
Willow shuddered again and held up her hands as if she didn't want to hear it. "I'm this close to using the floor as a barf bag, Spike. And even if what you say about yourself is true, that doesn't explain why Buffy…" Then the truth hit her and her luminous green eyes widened. "Oh my god. This is my spell, isn't it? My spell to get Oz back!"

  
"That's right, pet. Knew you'd figure it out eventually." He kneeled at Willow's feet. "Look, Red. I need you to understand something. I know it sounds crazy but I really do love Buffy. I've been feeling it coming on for a long time. I just didn't want to say nothing 'cause I knew that everybody would think I was clean off my head."

  
"No arguments here. And I don't believe that about your loving her. This is just a spell, remember? Hello, you were talking about killing her only a short time ago! You came here looking for Buffy only you found me instead and you threatened to kill me or turn me." The memory caused Willow's face to darken and Spike switched topics hurriedly.

  
"Well, I'm a vampire. Blood and sex—they kinda go together for us vampires and I was confused about what I was feeling." He cast around for another explanation to convince her. "You want to know why I came back to Sunnydale in the first place?"

  
She rolled her eyes and puffed out her lips as if the answer were obvious. "Duh! I know why. To kill Buffy."   
  
"No!" He stifled his exasperation and continued. "When I was in South America with Dru, she started cheating on me with all sorts of horrid creatures. You remember what I told you?"

  
She smiled in spite of herself. "Oh, yeah. You were so desperate to win her back you came up here and demanded I do a love spell because she'd left you for a Chaos demon. I saw a picture of one. Really yucky beasties. I can't believe you were dumped for something like that!" She giggled and then laughed out loud.  
  
He frowned at the display of mirth. "Glad to see my rotten love life is such a topic of amusement for you. I thought you were one of the nice ones, Red."

  
She tried to choke back her laughter unsuccessfully. "Spike, the last time you were in town you threatened me with a broken bottle and you hurt Xander. That doesn't exactly inspire feelings of the warm and fuzzy, does it?"

  
"I was upset, all right? Prepared to do anything to get my sweetie back. You ought to know how that feels." Seeing her lips thin, he decided to drop it. "Anyhow, that's all in the past. When I finally confronted Dru about all the screwing around she was doing on me, you know what she told me?" 

Willow shrugged. She seemed rather bored by his story but at least she was listening. "She said I was in love with the Slayer. She said she could see Buffy floating in the air all around me. Whenever she looked at me, she could see her. I thought it was pure bollocks. Drusilla was crazy; what did she know? So I came back here to Sunnydale once and for all to kill the Slayer, to prove my princess wrong." He looked at the wiccan to see if she was taking any of this seriously. "Do you know what happened then?"

  
"Yep. You got tagged by the Initiative and neutered like a house dog," she stated matter-of-factly.

  
"Ye-no!" He scowled at her innocent expression. She was on the verge of laughing at him again and he wanted to smack her. "I followed Buffy around, trying to find the best place to take her down. I had opportunities—lots of them—but none of them ever seemed like the right time or place. I was stalling and I didn't even know that I was doing it or why. Then your spell took hold and suddenly I understood."

  
He looked Willow deeply in the eyes as he tried to impress her with his sincerity. "I'm in love with the Slayer, Red. Completely and utterly in love with her. She's the one for me."

  
There was a moment's silence. Then Willow asked, "Uh huh. And what was Drusilla? A one-night stand?"

  
"Drusilla was…she was the one who created me, all right? There's the whole Sire/Childe bond thing. And there's also years of history and lust and passion and all the fun and games we vampires get up to. But, face it, she was totally around the bend and most of my time with her was spent taking care of her and making sure she didn't accidentally kill herself. That kind of dependency can feel a lot like love, Red. But, trust me, it ain't. And it don't hold a candle to what I feel for Buffy."

  
"But, Spike, if you're only saying this now 'cause of the spell…" Willow began.

  
"I knew you'd say that. I told you, I've been feeling it all along. The spell just brought the whole thing out of me." He got to his feet and sat on the bed beside her. She leaned away from him, an action he decided to overlook. "I know you don't believe me and it seems completely bonkers to you. But it's the honest-to-God's truth, Red. What do I have to gain by lying? I can't hurt Buffy either way. If this were just some plot to get close to her, why would I talk to you about the spell?"

  
Willow's brows scrunched together as she tried to figure it out. She knew Spike was a real manipulator. But this spell was her idea not his. If he was just taking advantage, why come to her? Wait, that was the question, wasn't it? "Okay, Spike. Say I believe you, that you've had this burning love for Buffy since you and your nuttier-than-a-fruitcake girlfriend went to South America. What do you want me to do?"

  
"I want you to hold off on canceling the spell. Just until Buffy and I get to know each other better," he added hastily as he saw the refusal looming in her eyes.

  
Willow couldn't believe that Spike thought she'd agree to something so twisted and wrong. "No, Spike. That's crazy. Even if your, your, feelings for Buffy are real…"

  
"They are, Red. Trust me," he insisted.

  
She barreled on. "Even if they are real, Buffy's feelings aren't. She doesn't love you."

  
"She could!" he said stubbornly.

  
She shook her head. "No, she doesn't. Trust me on this. She's still holding this big old Statue of Liberty torch for Angel."

  
A scowl darkened his face at the mention of his hated Grandsire. "Always got the bloody poof in mind, does she? Well, I know for a fact that she got over him. What about that Riley bloke?"

  
Willow frowned. "Riley Finn? What about him? He's just started seeing Buffy. There's nothing serious there." Then she sucked in her breath. "Oh, no! If she's marrying you, that'll ruin her chances with him! I've got to reverse this spell!"

  
Spike could have kicked himself. He shouldn't have mentioned another rival on the horizon—certainly not that Riley pillock. "No, Red. That's just it! Please, just wait a tick. Give the Slayer and me time to sort this out."  
  
"I can't do that, Spike. I've gotten one of my friends into an ugly mess and I have to fix it before things get any worse." Now her features had hardened into what he recalled was her Resolve Face. He'd seen her turn it on Buffy and the others often enough and knew he wasn't going to make any headway with her.   
  
She began gathering herbs and candles from her drawers and he made one last-ditch attempt to appeal to her. "Dammit, Red. Don't do this! 

  
"I have to, Spike. And if you loved Buffy as much as you claimed, you'd want to see if her feelings for you are real, spell or no spell." She began creating a circle and mumbling under her breath.

  
At the sight, Spike completely lost his head. He grabbed her arm and tugged at her, dragging her to her feet. The action wasn't enough to hurt her so his chip didn't go off. But the redhead tried to twist out of his grip. As his fingers tightened enough to become painful, the chip blazed through his head and he clapped his hand to his skull, loosening his hold on her.

  
Christ, he'd forgotten just how much that sodding piece of hardware in his head could hurt. Willow staggered from the sudden release and tripped backwards over one of the candles at her feet. Her head hit the corner of the nightstand with a sickening crunch. She collapsed to the floor, blood oozing from a cut to her temple and didn't move. There was a flicker of a pulse for the barest instant. Then her heart stopped altogether.  
  
Spike stood stock-still as he stared at her body in horror. He kneeled by her side. "Red? Red, come on. Wake up." Her eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling and he knew with certainty that there was nothing to be done. Shit, what was he going to do now?

  
He looked about the room wildly in a full-fledged panic. Thank goodness the door was still shut; he was safe for the moment. His first impulse was to take the body and throw it in the river someplace. Oh, but that hadn't worked so well for him in the past, had it? Besides, if Willow's body were found later with the marks of violence on it, it was a sure bet one of the others would blame him for it. Even if her death were an accident, why would they believe him?

  
Maybe it wasn't too late. Modern medicine performed all kinds of miracles, didn't it? If he got the medics here, maybe they could patch her up and start her heart again. He snatched up the phone and disguised his voice as he dialed 911. "Yeah? Could you send an ambulance right away? There's an injured woman here and she needs medical assistance." He shot a glance at the still body and added, "She's suffered a massive blow to the head. Get over here as quick as you can."

  
Hanging up the phone and making sure to wipe off his fingerprints, he quickly slid out the opened window. He'd been in Willow's room before so, if his fingerprints were found, he could always say they were from his previous visit. But how was he going to explain this to Buffy, to the others? 

  
The vampire stood watching silently from the bushes as the EMTs came out, the slight body lying stilly under the shrouding sheet. That was it, then. The witch was truly dead. That ridiculous tune from The Wizard of Oz ran through his head and he had to resist the urge to laugh like a loon.

_"Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all."_ - Oliver Wendell Holmes, "The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table"

  
  


He walked back to Buffy's place thinking hard while turning over this latest development. Her death wasn't his fault. Hell, he hadn't intended to hurt her at all. But what would Willow's death do to the timeline? On the plus side, with her dead, she couldn't resurrect the Slayer. He tried to think wildly of what other implications there would be. 

  
What about Adam? They'd needed Willow's expert computer skills to get into the Initiative when that pitiful excuse for a Frankenstein's monster decided to unleash all manner of havoc on those unsuspecting army gits. Still, would it be so bad if all those demons put paid to those military cretins? Yeah, that would be a big plus as far as he was concerned. But, with all of them gone, the beasties would overflow onto the surface with Adam at the helm. On their own, the demons weren't a particularly organized bunch. But, with that patchwork freak leading them, they'd raise all manner of trouble.

  
And that Glory bint—they had needed Willow's help to fight her in that battle. That Xork had said as much. But maybe, with Buffy in love with him, they could hightail it out of town before Glory's attack. He knew any number of swell places around the globe where they could hide.

  
He could take Buffy on a trip around the world. They'd visit all the places he and Drusilla had seen together. Spike allowed himself to indulge in daydreams of taking Buffy to Madrid, Rome, Paris—all the major capitals. They could honeymoon in England…

  
But would Buffy agree to leave? Hell, he didn't even know if the magic spell Red had concocted was still in force or whether it had gone up in smoke with her death as often happened with practicing sorcerers. Either way, he was in no hurry to confront the Slayer and the rest of their pals. So he decided to take the long route back to the Watcher's house while he came up with a plausible story about Willow. When they got word of her death, he'd act just as surprised as anyone else. He'd say that she had been alive when he left her. He'd always been good at fooling that lot when he wanted. This would be no different.  
  
When he came back to the Watcher's place, he found Buffy dancing around, humming that damnable wedding tune under her breath, while the Watcher lay neglected on the sofa with a towel draped over his eyes. "So the plan is to cure my total, incapacitating blindness…tomorrow," Giles murmured in a tired tone.  
  
Buffy was blithely unconcerned about her Watcher's state of health. "They were all out of Tagas root at the magick shop. They'll have more tomorrow. I'm completely on top of it." Her eyes lit up with that delicious sparkle and she ran back to Spike, kissing him soundly. "Honey, you're back! That's so great. I missed you. Look what I got." She showed him the wedding topper—a plastic bride and groom, both utterly dull and boring blonds. 

  
Spike did his best to smile. "That's wonderful…lamb."

  
She beamed in delight that he was so pleased. "I knew you'd like them. They look like us, don't they?"

  
He was about to answer with his reply about the groom looking insipid then decided to skip it. It wasn't important. What was important was that the annoying whelp and his ex-demon bint were about to come through that door.

  
Right on cue, Xander burst in with the chattering ex-demon in tow, babbling about being attacked by demons. Then he started pulling the bookshelf in front of the door to barricade it and yelled at everybody to start boarding up the windows.

  
The vampire was assailed with the now-familiar feeling of dread. Willow's loss wasn't going to take weeks to be felt. They were experiencing the effects now. The whelp was getting attacked by demons every second and without Red to break the spell… 

  
Giles interrupted his train of thought. "What's going on?"

  
Anya was frantically trying to help her boyfriend. She loved getting orgasms from Xander; she was damned if a lot of demons were going to stop her good times. "Demons. They keep coming and coming."  
  
Xander peered out through the window. "I think we lost them, but I couldn't see."

  
"That makes two of us," Giles muttered. He rubbed uselessly at his eyes once more.

  
Then Xander noticed that Spike wasn't tied down. "Why is Spike loose? Buffy, did you notice Spike is untied? Giles, do you know you have an untied-down vampire in your home?"

  
"Yes, I'm very much aware of that fact, Xander," Giles remarked sharply. "I'm infinitely grateful that I can't see it considering the shenanigans that are going on."

  
"You can't see it?" Then he took note of Giles's position. "Why are you just lying there? Did Spike do something to you?"

  
"I wouldn't be the least bit surprised," Giles mumbled.

  
"Hey, that's not a nice thing to say about my future husband!" Buffy snapped.

  
Xander froze and Anya blinked. "Future…what did you say? Anya, did she say what I think she said?"

  
"God, you are one of the bright ones, aren't you, Harris? Makes me wonder how you all managed to foil my plans so much," Spike sniped. 

  
"Because you're an idiot," Xander replied automatically. "Buffy, are you insane?! What is this about Spike and you in the same sentence in a matrimonial way?"

  
Spike sat down on a chair and pulled Buffy down to sit on his lap and began nuzzling her, taking delight in the ill expression on the whelp's face. She leaned her head on Spike's shoulder and smiled dreamily. "It's true, Xander. Me and Spike are gonna be married. Isn't it just wonderful?"

  
Amid the storm of protest and disbelief that came from the brunette Scooby, Spike glanced down into Buffy's face. There was a glowing light on it such as he had rarely seen. He remembered glimpsing it once or twice when she'd mentioned Angel within earshot while talking to Willow. But it had never been there for him. Now seeing it there simply warmed his undead heart—until he noticed the glazed, unfocused stare that seemed to accompany it. 

  
This wasn't real. None of what she felt for him was genuine. There was no foundation to it at all. Underneath this bleeding enchantment, she was the same old Slayer who couldn't stand him and had been threatening to stake him throughout most of the first year they'd been forced to work together. The hatred was still there, only now so heavily cloaked with this saccharine love spell that she'd never remember it except whenever they spoke to each other.

  
When he thought about it, he remembered she didn't really agree with him about anything for their wedding. She argued over the song, where they should hold the ceremony, how she wanted it in the daylight even though it might kill him and how she thought his name was just too weird to put on the wedding invitations. She didn't like one bloody thing about him—but she wanted to get married to him just the same.

  
Ignoring Xander's continuing rant about how this was just plain wrong, twisted and evil, he murmured to Buffy, "Can I ask you something, luv?"

  
She ran a finger along one of his ears and said, "Anything. What is it, snookums?"

  
Snookums! Oh, that was too much. He swallowed the bile rising to the tip of his throat and forced himself to ask. "Do you like me?"

  
She blinked as if she couldn't believe the stupidity of the question. "Do I what? Do I like you? Sweetie, I love you!" She drew his face down for another smacking kiss, earning them a waspish admonition from the prone Watcher.

  
He pushed her off gently. "No, luv. I'm serious. Do you like me?"

  
Her eyebrows drew together as she tried to sort out her answer. "Well, um, there's some things I like about you."  
  
He held his non-existent breath. "Like what?"

  
"Like…your accent." She grinned as if happy she could get off so easily. "It's kinda sexy."

  
He perked up at that. "Really?" Well, that was a start. A lot of foreign bints thought the English accent was a turn-on. Nice that Buffy was as susceptible to its charms as any of them.

  
"Except when you use those weird words I don't understand like 'bollocks' and 'wanker' and 'pet.' I don't really like being called pet, you know. It makes me feel like a Chihuahua," she finished with a frown.  
  
That took the wind right out of his sails. "So you like my accent but you don't like the things I say."

  
"No-o, I guess not. Especially when you're taking those swipes at me or my friends or the things around you. You're pretty much sarcastic and mean all the time when you talk. It's not nice. I don't really like it—like when you were making fun of my name and my mother." Her frown deepened and she drew away from him slightly.

  
Okay, that was not good. He usually made fun of people; it was just the way he was. Hello? Evil vampire? Besides, with that sodding chip stuck in his head, he had to get his jollies somehow. What was a little verbal humiliation compared to physical torture? "What about my looks then? You think I'm handsome?"  
  
"God, isn't somebody full of himself? It's a good thing he can't see his reflection, Buffy," Xander said snidely. "He'd probably spend all his time kissing the mirror."

  
Buffy stuck her tongue out at Xander. Then she peered up at Spike. "Um, promise you won't get mad, snookums?"  
  
Damn, that pet name would have to go. He gritted his teeth in a false attempt at a smile. "I won't get mad. I promise—Goldilocks."  
  
"The smoking's kind of a turn-off. It makes your mouth taste like an ashtray, although you're a pretty good kisser so that really makes up for it. And I usually prefer tall guys. My first real boyfriend back in Los Angeles was tall. Then there was Owen, Parker, Tom—you don't know him but he was kinda tall, too. And there was Angel, of course." Her eyes softened in remembrance of her first vampire lover and the dewy expression was like a slap across his face. That was the look of true love, the subtle difference that lay between her stated love for him and her deep, abiding emotions for Angel.

  
Oblivious to his pain, she rambled on in her description of the perfect male. "Ooh, and now there's Riley. He's tall, too, and muscly. I like that in my men. I was really interested in him. We even went out on a daylight picnic." She caught his tight-lipped, stormy grimace and hurriedly continued. "But none of that means anything now. I'm with you, sweetie. We're gonna get married and after that I won't ever look at any other guy even if he was Keanu Reeves."

  
"Keanu Reeves!?" Spike barked. "The actor? Not that he deserves the name. I've seen coat racks with more acting range than him."

  
Buffy glared at him in outrage. First Spike dismissed her favorite song and now her favorite actor? "Hey, that's not fair! Besides, we were discussing looks not talent. He's studly, tall, dark, sexy and handsome and he has the most beautiful dark eyes, too. The complete package and perfect combo," Buffy said by way of explanation. "Just not perfect for me…not anymore," she added by way of softening her words when she saw how upset Spike was getting.

  
"Yes, he is a gorgeous man," Anya observed. "Xander has that sort of thing going for him, too, and he's really great in bed. I'm surprised you didn't decide to make him your boyfriend, Buffy, if that's your type. Except that you can't now because he's taken. You had your chance," she finished, winding her hands around Xander's arm.

  
"Oh, like I'd want him, anyway," Buffy sniffed. "Believe me, the only time I threw myself at Xander was when I was under a spell."

  
"Ack! That's it!" Xander yelled, causing everyone to jump.

  
"What is?" Giles asked wearily and Spike knew what was coming.

  
"A spell. When I was with Willow, she said something." He waved his hands spastically in Spike and Buffy's direction. "Something about Buffy marrying Spike!" Then he realized. "And she said I was a demon magnet."

  
"Oh, that's why these things are after you," Anya exclaimed. She frowned. "What did she mean by that, exactly? Was she insulting me?"

  
"It wasn't about you, Anya. She was talking about my tastes in women in general," Xander said in an effort to stave off the argument he could sense brewing on the horizon.

  
Anya was indignant. "So it was an insult. Is that what the two of you do when I'm not around—discuss your terrible girlfriend?"

  
"Anya, not now. There's something more important going on here. I've been turned into demon bait, remember?" Xander pointed out.

  
"That would explain my blindness," Giles added.

  
"You're blind?" Xander waved his hands in front of the Watcher's face and Giles pulled away, irritation creasing his face.

  
"I don't know what you're doing but stop it at once. You smell like Fruit Roll-Ups." Xander jerked away, hiding a guilty expression.

  
"Why would Willow wish Giles to be blind? Was this some sort of vengeance spell?" Anya asked. The idea that vengeance was involved immediately piqued her interest. Then she wondered why Willow would wish demon attacks on her best friend Xander and her curiosity vanished to be replaced by anger. If they survived this, she was going to give that meddling witch a good talking to. 

  
"She didn't wish me blind, exactly. She just said I didn't see when I tried to commiserate with her about Oz's loss. She seemed to be angrier than she should have been," Giles mused.

  
Xander added, "And she got upset because Buffy had left her to check up with Spike about the army guys. She hated being given the brush-off for Angel Jr. here and said 'Why doesn't Buffy just marry Spike?' " The tall brunette cast his eyes on Buffy. "So that's it. We're all under spells courtesy of one griefed-up superwitch."  
  
Buffy was vocal in her protests. "I don't think I'm under a spell. I know what I'm feeling and this is true love. Isn't that right, Spike?" She wound her arms around him and favored him again with that simpering smile and he closed his eyes to avoid her gaze. The constant declarations of love were really starting to wear thin now that he knew there was nothing real behind them.

  
Giles grimaced from a similar distaste and questioned Spike. "Did Willow say anything about this when you talked to her, Spike?"

  
"You were talking to Willow? When was that?" Xander demanded. 

  
Spike knew he had to play this carefully. The whelp had always been the most distrusting of him and he couldn't afford to make Buffy angry at him. "I went to see her just a short while ago. I told her Buffy and me were getting married and Buffy wanted her as a bridesmaid. That was it."

  
Xander's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He didn't trust Spike. The vampire wasn't questioning his sudden attachment to Buffy and that wasn't like the peroxide puke at all. Xander was beginning to think Spike had something to do with this although he didn't see why Willow would help him. He was going to talk to his best friend when he got the chance; she couldn't be fooling with magic if Spike was going to be taking advantage. "And she didn't think that was strange?" the brunette probed.

  
Spike said, "Well, yeah! But I told her it was true love. It took a bit of convincing but I think she really believed me."

  
"And I think I really don't," Xander replied. "This is a spell. Anybody can see that with both eyes closed."  
  
Buffy had had it. She was fed up with everyone dismissing her feelings. "No way! I'm telling you, this isn't a spell! I love Spike! Why doesn't anybody believe us?"

  
"Because you said you can't stand anything about him: his looks, his talk, his smoking and you think he's too short," Anya added, her bluntness taking no heed of anybody's feelings as usual. She flicked her eyes critically over Spike's body. "And what about his coat? While I agree that many people find leather extremely sexy, he wears his all the time. It gets rather boring after awhile and I just can't see him marching down the aisle in it. Or is wearing oversized cowhide part of a wedding tradition you humans have like those really big foam fingers you wear at your ritualistic competitive sporting games?"

Buffy glanced at the offending garment and made a tiny moue of distaste. "Well, okay, it's not exactly haute couture. But he doesn't wear it all the time. And you wouldn't wear it at the wedding. Right, sweetie?" Her pleading glance begged him to agree.

He plastered a tight smile on his face. "No, course not, pe-uh, Buffy. Wouldn't do to be wearing this with you all in your lovely white dress, would it?"

Buffy beamed in delight at the concession. "And I'm betting he'd look great in a tux." Spike gritted his teeth at the notion. But Buffy was oblivious to his discomfort. "See! He's not all bad. You can love someone without liking everything about them. It's called making compromises," she finished with a triumphant look at Xander.

  
Xander couldn't believe Buffy would be this deluded about Spike. "Or settling. But the point is, you don't like _anything_ about Spike. How about that ugly dyed hair? Do you like that?"

  
"Yes!" Seeing everyone's eyes on her except Giles's, she muttered, "No, not really. It does look kinda cheap. Is there any chance you can let your hair grow back to its natural color for the wedding, honey?"

  
"Oh, I suppose you'd like it better if I dyed it brunette and smeared nancy boy hair gel in it!" Spike sneered. "Besides, you dye your hair, too, luv. I've seen your roots."

  
"I do not dye my hair!" Buffy shot back. "First it's my name and my mother and now my hair. I know I'm not under a spell. But I'm beginning to think you are." Her chin wobbled a little and she looked on the verge of tears.

  
Well, what could he say to that? Before he could think up a pacifying lie, demons came crashing into the house. He almost welcomed the interruption before he realized that it wasn't stopping. The demons were coming from everywhere with no rhyme or reason to their attacks. They were renewing their assault on the donut boy and he grabbed Buffy's hand to pull her away from the fray. "Come on, luv! We've got to get out of here! There's too many of them!"

  
She resisted his pull, desperate to save her friends. "No, Spike! We've got to help the others." Even under a spell, she still retained her fierce loyalty towards her little squad. He almost admired her for it. Almost.  
  
Anya yelled as one of the demons clubbed Xander on the head, causing the boy to stagger. "Buffy, help! Xander's in trouble!"

  
Buffy jerked her arm away from Spike and waded back into the fight. Helpless to leave her, he took his stand beside her. But there were too many demons of too many different kinds. The odds quickly became overwhelming and then insurmountable.

  
"Everybody, clear out! We need to get to open ground!" Spike yelled. 

  
"You grab Giles!" Buffy yelled. She punched one particularly ugly demon in the face and Spike watched as three others converged on her. Xander may have been a demon magnet but the spell didn't prevent these creatures from knowing a Slayer when they saw one and correctly pegging her as the greater threat.

  
As if in slow motion, he saw the sword descend towards her head and he lunged in her direction, knowing it would be too late. Xander was closer and managed to throw himself into her hard enough to knock them both out of the demon's path. The tip of the sword plunged deeply into the floor where it stuck. The demon grunted as he tried to tug it out and Spike seized the opportunity to attack him, striking him hard in the face.

  
When the demon reeled back, Spike retrieved the lost sword and swung the weapon at the beastie's neck. The metal sliced into the throat but didn't manage to sever the head. Now it was Spike's turn to tug ineffectually at the weapon. 

  
"Spike, look out!" Buffy's scream came an instant too late as a yellow demon with fists the size of anvils threw a lethal punch at his head. The vampire's spine cracked under the blow and his head (obviously far more fragile than the head of the demon he'd been trying to kill) parted from his shoulders. For brief milliseconds he saw Xander going down under an onslaught of demons…

  
The Watcher groping with Anya towards an open window...

  
Buffy's mouth stretched open in a silent howl…

  
Then his head exploded into dust.

  
This time he was prepared as he was catapulted into the cavernous space of the waiting room and tucked his body into a roll, coming to his feet in one smooth, easy motion. He flapped his hand wearily at the nearest window. "No, don't get up. I know where I'm headed.

Glancing around the waiting room, he was slightly heartened to see some faces he knew. Waving to a Quurantarath wraith, he said, "How're you doing, mate? Still here or did they bring you back, too?"

  
The creature flickered, a succession of bright colors lighting up its ethereal, smoke like body. He didn't know if that signaled comprehension or merely a greeting. He didn't even know if it was the same wraith he'd seen on his previous visit. 

  
He slouched over to the dispenser, pulled out a ticket and plopped down in the chair beside the amorphous being where it floated in the air. "Yeah, it's been that kind of a day for me, too. So how's the weather been where you've been at?"

  
  
_"Love is all fire, and yet is ever freezing;_

_Love is much in winning, yet is more in leesing:_

_Love is ever sick, and yet is never dying;_

_Love is ever true, and yet is ever lying;_

_Love does doat in liking, and is mad in loathing;_

_Love indeed is anything, yet indeed is nothing." – Thomas Middleton, Blurt_

  
TBC


	6. The God You Know

_"One more Unfortunate,___

_Weary of breath,_

_Rashly importunate_

_Gone to her death!_

_Take her up tenderly,_

_Lift her with care;_

_Fashioned so slenderly,_

_Young, and so fair!" – Thomas Hood, "The Bridge of Sighs"_

"Another rout, I'm afraid, Mr. Speck. Sunnydale was once again overrun by demons." Xork made a buzzing sound with his lips. Then he crunched into a beet red vegetable resembling a carrot only with protrusions sticking out of the long stick every which way so that it looked more like a cactus than anything else. He munched noisily, the crackling sounds filling the space until Spike thought he'd be driven up the walls. He hoped the Pekinese wasn't going to eat every time he was here. He stepped on an errant crumb and frowned, wiping the fragment from his boot on the edge of a desk leg.

The vampire resumed pacing up and down in the tiny room. He wasn't really antsy; he was just tired of sitting around. He'd been doing it forever in that monotonous white room and now he wanted the exercise. "Can we just cut to the chase, Baldy? I don't need to know what I did wrong. Things got out of hand between me and Red and she died. Which weren't my fault by the way," he added. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to hurt her and I couldn't seeing as I had that chip inside my head." He tapped his skull for emphasis. There was no way he was getting blamed for murders he hadn't committed; he had a long enough rap sheet, as it was.

Xork's nostrils flared. "Very well. You are held responsible for the witch's death but you are not guilty. The distinction has been duly noted, Mr. Speck."

That wasn't really reassuring but he supposed it was better than nothing. "Just as long as the blokes upstairs get that."

Xork was unimpressed with his justification; Spike could tell. However, the hobbit said nothing further about it. His teeth crunched into the carrot and continued with his assessment, mumbling around the mouthful. "You'll be pleased to know her death per se wasn't the reason Sunnydale was overrun with demons this time. Yes, her demise was a problem. But it wasn't the main cause of the subsequent destruction of the town." Xork replied, the fingers of one hand flying briskly over the keyboard while taking another nibble from his treat.

That brought the vampire up short. "I-It wasn't? I thought she was important to the grand scheme of things. A human life, powerful witch on the Slayer's side, that sort of thing."

The furball tapped out something else on the keys, peered critically at the screen and then turned to the vampire. "Yes, she was." Xork paused in consuming his snack and ran his extensive tongue around his lips to pick up any stray crumbs. "The real crisis came about because of that spell—the one you wouldn't let the dead woman cancel out. THAT was the real culprit."

"That love spell? So Buffy was still in love with me. How could that make things any worse?" He wasn't about to regret anything that put the Slayer in his arms even if it was due to a wonky spell. Of course, he'd been pretty ticked off, what with hearing Buffy carrying on in that sickening manner about blokes other than himself, but still…

Xork interrupted his train of thought. "Mr. Speck, the Harris boy was the constant target of demons everywhere. The Slayer remained violently and blindly in love with you as a result of that spell. After your death, she became inconsolable. With the Slayer incapacitated by grief, it was only a matter of time before he died. His beloved Anyanka tried to go on without him but couldn't abide the loss of her lover and became a demon once more and abandoned the Slayer. The only ones left of that glorious team were a morose champion and her blind Watcher. Needless to say, they were a poor line of defense for an active Hellmouth. They both died shortly after the Harris boy."

Spike couldn't believe it. Willow's death hadn't tipped the balance of power but one measly little spell did? "But, hang on! What about Faith? She was the Slayer after Kendra died. How come she wasn't around to pitch in?"

"That Slayer was in a coma and helpless to prevent the subsequent chaos and demon reign of terror that descended on Sunnydale after your Slayer's death. Even had she awoken in time, she was too wild to maintain the necessary caution and discipline of her predecessor. Either way, her death was practically fated. With no able Slayers on the Hellmouth, the demons rose with the Adam construct. You can imagine what happened to the poor inhabitants of Sunnydale after that." Xork finished off the rest of the carrot and emitted a solid belch.

Spike wanted to bang his head on the table. No matter what he did, the moment he tried for anything personal with Buffy, his plans blew up in his face. But getting together with her sooner rather than later was the best way to prevent hell on the Hellmouth. Wasn't it?

When he snuck a peek at Xork, he saw the red eyes gazing unblinkingly at the screen monitor and knew the thing was watching his thoughts again. "Look, I'm thinking you know a lot more than you're telling me."

"Undoubtedly. I believe reference was made to your limited intelligence before now, Mr. Speck," Xork replied coolly.

Great, the thing thought he was stupid on top of his other faults. Spike felt his temper flare again and gritted out, "So how about giving me some info? What is it I'm doing wrong? You're supposed to be my caseworker but you're not giving me anything to work with that I can really use."

"What, exactly, are you looking for in terms of aid, Mr. Speck?" The tufted ears swiveled towards him as if the creature were really interested in what he had to say. 

"Tell me how I'm screwing up, that's what!" the vampire snarled. 

Xork rocked from side to side, a gesture that Spike was beginning to recognize was the equivalent of a shrug. "I really couldn't tell you. I know you, I know your character right down to your overwhelming stupidity, selfishness and occasional acts of kindness. What I cannot predict is how you will react in any given set of circumstances or exactly how you will implement your plans. When you go off to your chosen destination, I can only read what's printed out here on the screen from your viewpoint as events unfold. I am helpless either to communicate with you or to influence events once you leave this chamber." 

"Then give me a guideline, something solid to work with." Spike was almost begging now but he didn't care. He'd tried twice to save Buffy and Sunnydale and both times he'd failed. He'd thought this would be easy. But, of course, a prize like Buffy wasn't easily won. Otherwise, it wouldn't have taken over a year of trying and her death to do so. 

Of course, he was also struggling for his redemption although that wasn't his primary goal. Guess salvation wasn't that easy to come by either, now that he thought about it. For the first time, he appreciated what a rotten time Angelus must have had trying to live with the burden of his soul and to make good for all the wrongs he'd done.

Was that part of the problem? Was he focusing too much on Buffy and not enough on the people around her? He probed the hairball for answers. "You said I had to save Sunnydale. Does that mean I should just forget about the Slayer, then?"

The furball rocked again. "I really can't tell you what to do, Mr. Speck. Frankly, given your disdain for authority figures, you probably wouldn't listen to me anyway."

"Too right. I'm not asking for flippin' orders, mate. I just want some basic info on my situation. I feel like I'm playing with a trick deck while the other bloke's got all the aces. Should I help Buffy or not?"

Xork didn't reply for a moment. Then he spoke in measured tones as if careful about what he should reveal to the vampire. "The Slayer cannot be ignored. Your fate and hers have become intertwined."

If his heart were still working, it would have skipped a beat right there. "They are? So she and I—we become a couple?" He knew the hairball didn't approve of his relationship with the Slayer. But he didn't give a crap what he or anyone else had to say about it. He and Buffy were meant to be together. He would stake his unlife on it. More to the point, he already had, not that the ungrateful bastards running this place would see that. 

The marmoset was reading the screen once more and Xork's ears twitched again. "You think your presence is essential to the Slayer's survival? Is that why you abandoned her and left her to be shot by Warden Meyers?" the pygmy asked him in a beguilingly light tone.

What? Buffy had been shot? This was the first time he'd heard about this. "That bastard shot her? She never told me that!" His mind raced over all the conversations they'd shared after he got his soul back. Buffy had never said a word about being shot by that nerdy little git. Neither did anybody else. He hadn't expected the others to have much conversation with him; Buffy's friends hadn't exactly been hospitable to him when he came back even with his soul. But the Slayer should have mentioned something as devastating as getting punctured by a bullet. Why hadn't she?

Xork scrolled through the document highlighted on the computer monitor. "While you were in Africa retrieving your lost soul, the Slayer was attacked and shot by the leader of the triad that had been plaguing her all year. Fortunately she was saved by the wiccan Willow Rosenberg. Otherwise she would have expired from her injury."

"Red saved her? Good for her then," Spike mumbled. Chalk another rescue up for Red. It seemed the witch made a habit of saving Buffy. 

He couldn't believe how close Buffy had come to death without him around to help. He shouldn't have just taken off. Better yet, he should have had that Warren ponce killed. A couple of demons owed him favors; he could have cashed in and had one of them do the deed.

Reading his thoughts off the screen, Xork licked his eyeballs thoughtfully. "Perhaps another demon might have been useful when Meyers attacked," Xork mused. "Certainly you couldn't have helped since the assault occurred in daylight and you had that device in your head hindering your attacks against humans. We only know that, once again, it was another soldier in the Slayer's army who saved her in her time of need. Not you," he ended with the same rocking motion. "But I believe we have more pressing matters. You have three more attempts to make. When shall you go next?"

"Since Glory's the reason the Slayer snuffed it on my watch, I think I'm gonna deal with her," Spike said, rising once more to his feet. "I know who her better half is and I'm gonna do something about that before she gets her claws on the Niblet."

"Hmmm. Tackling a god, eh? My, you are aiming high. Well, good luck, Mr. Speck." As Spike gave instructions to the rodent and another vortex opened up, he was sure he heard the midget mumble, "You're going to need it."

This time he was more sure of himself. It was Buffy's birthday and the day the Niblet found out about her unhuman status. He had time, both to deal with that Glory bint and, even more importantly, get a gift for the Slayer. He didn't want to steal from the Magic Box. That Anya watched him like a hawk whenever he stepped foot inside the place and, if she saw him hand over an item to Buffy that she knew he hadn't paid for, there'd be hell to pay with her and the Slayer. So he'd have to go elsewhere to get his little prezzie for the Slayer. 

The sun held him captive in his crypt so he made the most of his time here. He wandered around the stone enclosure, recalling all the times he'd talked to the Slayer and the hours he shagged her rotten on the floor. He'd made special efforts to fix up the basement just so she'd have someplace comfortable to come to when she'd finished her patrols. They'd had sex in practically every corner of the place—except for the bed. The only time they'd done the dirty deed there was when she'd been invisible. 

He frowned while he tried to sort out the implications of that. She had declared in no uncertain terms that she didn't want him to see her. Even after she was visible again, she'd never let him have her, not completely. He'd seen her eyes change, for fleeting moments become more than dull, gray stones, when they were naked together. 

But it was as if a part of her was always hidden away. She never allowed tenderness and seemed to relish the hostility and battering that accompanied their sexual bouts as if it helped to distance her from what they were doing. The one time they'd had anything approaching a civil conversation, she'd backed away and he'd seen the curtains fall over her eyes, shutting herself off from him.

The bed seemed to act like a lure and he settled on it, trying to imagine his Slayer on the sheets. The image was elusive in his mind and he couldn't conjure it no matter how he tried. He was sure she'd made love to Angel on a bed and he snarled imperceptibly at the thought. She would have loved the romantic nature of the gesture: the soft sheets caressing her skin while the bloody wanker she loved took her virginity. Maybe that's why he'd never been afforded the same gift. It had been just another way of keeping her distance and pointing up how different he'd been from Angel. 

He shoved the thought of the two of them out of his mind. The poof was long gone. He had abandoned Buffy and Spike had chosen to stick by her in her hours of need. He was the one who'd been picked by higher powers to set things right and bring back Sunnydale from the dust. He was the champion here. Him, not Angel. That's why he'd been the one to wear the amulet and bring down the walls of Jericho. Spike took comfort in that thought even as he tried to ignore everything the weasley caseworker had said about his place on the lower rung as part of Buffy's group. 

Taking off his clothes, he lay face up on the surface. He began stroking himself as he thought of Buffy: the satiny sheen of her smooth skin, her beautiful blonde hair tumbling over her eyes as her body shook, her loud screams ringing off the walls while he shagged her, the bites, marks and bruises they left on each other's bodies. God, she'd been such an animal during sex. He was certain Angel had never gotten that part of her. He'd captured a piece of her the great poof had never seen and, for that alone, he was fiercely glad.

Gnawing his lower lip with his fangs, he erupted all over his hand. He wiped the fluids on the bed and immediately was assailed with other visions of Buffy in various positions throughout his crypt. He was hard all over again and the ache in his body coupled with the weight of his memories was unbearable. For the first time in his immortal existence, he was actually sorry for vampire stamina. He dried himself off and put on clean clothes, deciding to forego further activity of that sort. It would only make things worse for himself in the long run.

The blonde vampire strode up and down in his crypt, waiting anxiously for the sun to fall. Buffy was still wary towards him but, if he could get rid of the threat to her sister, he knew she'd warm right up. She loved her sister with a fierceness he'd seen her display only towards that poof Angel. Spike could still recall the kiss Buffy gave him because he'd gotten tortured on Dawn's account after the goddess's hideous warthog minions had taken him prisoner. That had been the start of her softening towards him. She hadn't loved him but she'd realized his talk about loving her wasn't just smoke being blown in her face.

He dug around in the stash of dosh he had hidden away and hefted the wad of bills. Over the years, he'd amassed quite a bit of money from his human victims. He could have settled for stealing his gift but he wanted a price tag, something tangible to prove to Buffy he could be a decent fellow, one who knew how to take care of his lady and treat her right.

He would have preferred to pick up his gift later after he'd made sure Buffy's sister was no longer in danger. But stores tended to close early in Sunnydale due to the otherworldly nocturnal activity and this guy seemed jitterier than most store owners. Nope, he had to pick this up now or never. 

He had been about to go for some of the jewelry glittering on their velvet covers when he saw something else that would be even better. Peering through the display case at the array of gleaming articles, he surveyed the items critically. "You got anything with amethysts in the handle, mate?" he asked the owner who was watching him carefully from behind the counter.

"Amethysts? Sure, we got 'em. But they're only semi-precious stones, basically tinted quartz. Wouldn't you prefer something a little higher up like emeralds or sapphires?" He eyed Spike's attire dubiously. "On the other hand, if that's all you can afford…"

The vampire scowled at him. "It ain't a question of money. I'm getting it for my sweetie and her birthday's this month. Amethyst is the stone for February, innit? So I want a dagger with amethysts in it." 

The man didn't blink an eye at the notion that this guy wanted a weapon for his girlfriend nor did he suggest that Spike take another look at the jewelry prominently displayed. "Very well, sir. We have a fine selection right here." He unlocked a lower window and brought up a tray of other items.

Spike scanned them with a careful eye. Some of the bits and pieces for sale were fairly good. A few were downright crap; he could tell that right off even if the average buyer would be fooled by the glitter. There was a Brazilian dagger. Lovely but a little too fancy. He didn't want her to think he was buying her or her affections. Another had the wrong kind of stones, the topaz containing a muddy amber tint that was too much like the eyes of vampires. He dismissed that item at once; he was instinctively certain she'd hate it. Only five contained the richly purple stones he was looking for and he drew these towards him, running his fingers over the blades.

Sorting out three that seemed more like what he had in mind, he held them up to the light, checking for clarity, cut and color, testing them for balance and weight. The Slayer was on the small side but not much more so than he. Any weapon he could handle, she could just as well. He made deft passes and swipes with it in the air, worrying the bloke behind the counter even further. 

Another time, Spike would have found the guy's fear amusing but he had bigger fish to fry than one nervy storekeeper. Picking out a dagger with a groove down the center of the blade and a ring of stones around the spot where the hilt met the shaft, he said, "This is the one, mate. I'll take it."

The salesman beamed as the demon pulled out the wad from his pocket. Nothing allayed a man's fears like cold, hard cash. "An excellent choice. She'll love that one. Would you like the gift wrapped before you leave?"

He glowed at the idea of watching Buffy pull off the paper and seeing what lay inside and then assumed a sterner expression when he saw the man watching him. "Yeah. Sounds like that'd be okay. I, uh, don't suppose you sell cards or summat like that, do ya?"

The transaction complete, the answer was noncommittal. "I'm afraid not, buddy. You could try the gift shop three doors down the street." The man finished wrapping up the box and handed the package to the impatient vampire.

Now that that was sorted, he had to take care of the other matter. There was still a dangerous goddess named Glory out there and he was going to deal with her before heading over to the Slayer's place. Maybe he could even surprise Buffy with the news. Now that would be a fantastic birthday present.

He scowled at the Tiirmaran demon. The creature was a lithe figure that bore a deceptively human appearance save for a slight purplish sheen to his hair. But Spike knew that belied his utter ferocity and brutality in battle. "Come on, Galtro. What's the big deal? It's just one lousy human."

"I know that." The man licked his lips and burped delicately after downing the gin Spike had bought for him. "That's the problem. You know about the Slayer, don't you?"

"The Slayer won't be a problem, mate. Trust me on this. She'd want this human killed." Actually Spike wasn't sure if Buffy would let a helpless human be offed even if said mortal was the other half of Glory. But this guy didn't need to know that.

However, Galtro was properly skeptical. It was insulting; didn't he trust Spike's judgment? "I never heard of any Slayer who stood by while demons slaughtered humans. And Slayers are always a problem, especially this one. She took down Mayor Wilkins, in case you haven't heard, and that guy turned into a dinosaur! You think I want that kind of heat on my head?" He raised his hand and signaled for another drink.

"It was a giant snake, actually," Spike corrected him.

Galtro snorted, the flippant description not convincing him. "Snakes don't grow to the size of three-story buildings, Spike. And the answer is still no." The glass of gin was placed in front of Galtro and he slugged it down in one shot.

"Listen, mate, you owe me. I got you that date with that redheaded malaba girl. Remember her?" His lips curved as he recalled that luscious piece of flesh. Galtro had been lusting after her for weeks without making any headway. Malabas were typically a close-knit bunch, keeping away from other demons and humans alike. Galtro hadn't been able to get anywhere near her in spite of all his efforts. But Spike had saved her from a particularly nasty, persistent suitor and the creature had been properly grateful, agreeing to go out with his friend.

Galtro stared at him, sullenness creeping into his eyes. "She was a lesbian, Spike."

The flat statement brought Spike completely out of his reminiscences. "She—what did you say?"

"She swung for the other side. She was polite to me at dinner but, when I pressed for some sign that this could actually go somewhere, she came out and told me she preferred females. That's why she'd been giving me the cold shoulder all those weeks. She only agreed to go out with me as a favor to you."

The vampire thought back to what he remembered of the malaba bint. "B-but I saw her…with other blokes! They weren't shagging but they looked pretty darn cozy to me."

The Tiirmaran shrugged and, when another drink was brought over, he silently motioned for the bottle to be left at the table. "Those were her cousins. She was obligated to mate with them. It was all part of a contract having to do with a complicated mating ritual I didn't understand and didn't want to get into. She said, outside of them, she preferred the ladies."

"Bloody hell." Spike poured himself another one and knocked it back, smacking the shot glass down on the table. "You never can tell, can you?"

"Nope. Guess not." Galtro decided to leave and picked up the bottle. "It's been swell seeing you again, Spike. Sorry I couldn't help you with your human problem." Then he paused. "Say, you never said why you don't just off the guy yourself."

"I can't get into his house, mate. Pesky drawback for us vampires. Can't get around it and that's the truth of the business," Spike responded with a shrug.

Galtro didn't see why that should be a hassle. "So just wait for him someplace else and kill him there. How hard can it be for you, Spike?"

Spike slumped down in the seat. He couldn't attack Glory in her human form and, after the one encounter in which he'd gone toe to toe with her, he knew he was no match for her physically. But he wasn't about to let Galtro know about his chip. Most demons didn't know about his incapacity and he wasn't about to spill even if it wouldn't matter in a few hours. So he fudged a bit. "This human's stronger than the usual victim. I have it on good authority his body's doing a timeshare with a god. That's a bit out of my league."

At that intelligence, Galtro's eyes took on a feral light. "A god? Shit, Spike, why didn't you say so? Now that's the kind of challenge I could go for."

Spike hadn't realized Galtro would be willing to gamble his life this way. "Hey, a moment ago, you didn't want to risk tangling with the Slayer!"

"Slayer, no. God, yes. I mean, even if you kill a Slayer, they just keep coming like tax officials from the government. They're kinda common when you think about it. Somebody's always killing them. They never live longer than twenty years or so anyway. I mean, what's the big deal?" he added in an offhand manner, not noticing the offended look on Spike's face. "But I take down a god, that's a once-in-a-lifetime deal. It's the sort of battle that goes down in the history books." Galtro licked his lips and leaned closer to Spike, a lunatic gleam in his eyes. "So where can I find this Dead Divinity Walking?"

Galtro peered at the dead human, grunting in disappointment. Spike had cautioned him to take down this creature quickly as he wanted a swift kill not an out-and-out battle royale. Galtro would still have relished a bit of a fight. But the victim had gone down without so much as a struggle. One quick chop to the neck and he'd collapsed, his vertebrae cracking under the blow. Infuriated at the lack of resistance, Galtro had viciously torn into the carcass until the being was a barely recognizable mass of torn flesh.

He dragged the body out of sight behind the hospital. He didn't have the time to bury it but he was beyond caring. Humans were notably lax about their dead, anyway. Chances were they'd put this guy's death down to a rabid dog attack when they saw the claw marks.

Spike walked along the sidewalk. He was so happy he could have whistled a jaunty tune if that had been his thing. He'd watched from a safe distance as Galtro had approached and killed Dr. Ben Wilson. The job had been speedy, silent and deadly. A Mafia hit couldn't have gone down smoother. Not waiting to see what else happened, he'd taken off, gift in hand.

A storm of emotion tore through Dreg as he and the others looked down at the body of their fallen goddess where she lay on the couch. She was in the form of her worthless human half, but it was she nonetheless. He had found the shredded corpse in the woods behind the asylum where the humans brought their hurt and dying. After making sure it was indeed Ben, Dreg had brought the body back to the apartment to submit to the inevitable questions and grieving from the others.

Glory's adherents stood or knelt in various postures, weeping and wailing, wringing their hands as they gazed on the remains of their magnificent Glorificus. Jinx had brought a satin sheet and laid it reverently over the carcass, hiding from their stricken gazes the horrific wounds that had been inflicted on her Holiness's hallowed form. "Who could have done this, Dreg?" Jinx sniffled.

"Isn't it obvious? It could only have been the Slayer. Who else would visit such atrocities on the body of our beloved goddess, our shining light and holder of all that is most dear and cherished in this life?" Gronx hissed, her fists flexing with barely suppressed anger. 

The others nodded, murmurs of assent giving way to whispers of outrage and fury. "If the Slayer did this, then she must pay," Jinx asserted.

"If? IF?!?" Gronx screamed. "Look at our fallen leader! See the vile wounds that have been inflicted on the body! The wallet is still in his pocket, full of the useless paper to which humans attach so much worship. This was no ordinary robbery nor random attack, not with such violence done to the noble one's flesh! The Slayer has done this!" She was in the grip of a passion she had never before experienced. She could actually feel the pulse beating behind her eyes as she contemplated lashing out at the perpetrator of this unspeakable crime.

Another of Glory's followers spoke up, his features distorted with rage, eyes swollen with tears. "I say we retaliate in kind! We find the Slayer and we kill her!" His words were met with cries of approval from the others. 

However, at these words, a measure of sanity asserted itself to Dreg, cutting through the wrath that threatened to engulf him as it had the others. "Kill the Slayer? Are you mad? We have no chance of defeating her. This Slayer is like no other. If the rumors are true, she has the strength of ten men, an army at her disposal, an array of weapons…and she has just slain our goddess," Dreg pointed out.

Uneasy murmurs ran around the group as they all recognized the wisdom of Dreg's words. If they went up against the Slayer, they stood a good chance of joining their Glorificus in death. Many were eager to take this route, thinking nothing more magnificent than to die in the name of their god. 

However, the seeds of an idea were forming in Dreg's mind. Waving his hands to calm the others and draw their attention, he said, "We shall not attack the Slayer directly. That would be suicide and would avail us nothing. But since she has robbed us of our most precious light in this universe, we shall take something equally valuable from her. I remember an intelligence the glorious one gifted me with after she bearded the Slayer in her den and I have seen this female in the Slayer's company as I spied upon them."

He eyed the others and a smile slowly slid over his face. It was not an affable smile and Glory's other minions experienced a kind of fearful respect as they witnessed it. "The Slayer possesses a sister," Dreg whispered.

There was a moment's silence as they all digested this news. Then their voices were raised in a shout as they applauded Dreg's idea.

He paced back and forth in front of the house, reciting his lines in a low breath to an invisible audience in between taking nips out of his flask to gain courage. 

"Slay—Buffy, I know we've had some rocky times between us. But I'd like to think we've reached an understanding, almost like a friendship…'cept that I don't want friendship. I want more from you than that. I know you feel something, too. There's something between us, Slayer; you can't deny it. A feeling this strong—it's got to be shared. The fact is, that I'm crazy about you and that feeling hasn't gone away. Fact is, the more I fight it, the stronger it gets."

He paused a moment, testing out that last line in his mind. Did he really want her to know he was madly in love with her at this time? Well, why not? He had never been shy about revealing his affections for her once she found out. Why should he be now? The gift would certainly help to sweeten the pot a bit.

Squaring back his shoulders, he swaggered up the walkway. He hesitated a little before ringing the bell. Buffy's friends would be in attendance as well as her mum. He didn't give a toss what the Scoobies had to say but he wasn't quite sure where he stood with Joyce this time around. He had a genuine fondness for the woman, seeing what a kind and gracious lady she'd always been to him, and he wanted to stay firmly on her good side.

Hang on a tick, if he remembered things correctly, Buffy had brought her and Dawn to stay in his crypt when that Glory had showed up at the Revello house. He and Joyce had had a nice long talk while watching Passions. He thought the woman might actually have taken a liking to him. In any case, he didn't see a decent woman like Joyce standing on ceremony. Striding up to the doorstep, he hefted the package and rang the bell.

Buffy opened the door. She was wearing a dark sleeveless top that exposed her slender arms. Backlit as she was, she seemed to glow like an angel. Her welcoming smile, however, flew from her face and she frowned when she saw who it was. "Oh, it's you. What do you want?"

Still playing the ice queen, was she? Well, he knew what fire lay under that frosty exterior so he let the chilly greeting slide. "Happy Birthday, Slayer. Thought I'd come in and wish you the day's best." He held up his gift with his sunniest smile (god, he was doing an awful lot of smiling lately. What would Dru say if she could see what a total sap he'd turned into?) and stepped forward only to find her blocking his path. "Uh, want to step aside, Slayer? Can't give you your prezzie if I can't get in."

She stood against the door lintel, crossing her arms and gracing the package with a bored, indifferent glance. "You don't have to bother. I don't want your gift and I don't want to see you. If you think this is supposed to make up for interfering with me and Riley, you can just forget it." She sniffed in his direction and made a face. "Have you been drinking?"

"Maybe a lit—look, that ain't important. I went to all the trouble of getting you this and you don't show the slightest sign of gratitude! And I picked it out for you all special, too. See!" He pulled off the lid and exposed the shiny weapon inside.

"Wow. A tool for the Slayer who has everything—another weapon," she responded evenly. "Guess that's how you always see me, huh—as the Slayer. That's why I always see you as the soulless vampire."

"Me being a soulless vampire weren't a problem for you when you brought your mum and little sis over to stay with me," he pointed out angrily.

"Spike, I use you because you're occasionally…well, useful. I call 911 whenever I need a cop but you don't see guys in blue pestering me whenever I walk down the street. Now take your shabby little toy and get off my doorstep. You probably just stole it, anyway," she added.

He grinned in triumph. Time to wipe that self-righteous sneer off her face. "Knew you'd say that, Slayer, so I brought the receipt. It's all square and legal. Paid for and everything." He pulled it out of his pocket and waved the piece of paper at her.

If he was hoping that she'd cut him some slack with this proof of his decency, she promptly disappointed him. "Big deal. You could have picked it off the floor after somebody else paid for their purchase. I'm not stupid, I'm not impressed and see me making with the not caring!" She slammed the door in his face and left him standing there in the doorway.

"Well, you can burn in hell, Slayer!" he shouted to the closed door. So much for his little speech. He hadn't even been able to go into the part about her and him being more than friends. That was what being with Buffy always did to him—knocked him right off his pins. Of course, Spike couldn't ever remember the Slayer he knew being this stubborn. 

But she was obviously still smarting over his part in breaking up her sad affair with the Enormous Hall Monitor. Yeah, that was a day that would live on in infamy, at least until the Slayer needed him again. Then she'd come crawling to his doorstep, begging for his help and he'd give it to her like the love's bitch he was. Why had he ever put up with her using him like this anyhow?

He shoved the package back under his arm and stormed away from her doorstep. "I can't believe that bitch!" he ranted. "Nothing I do is ever good enough. She wants me to be good but she still complains when I am. I protect her family, I put up with those friends of hers even though I can't stand the lot of them and I take her crap over and over again and she still treats me like dirt! Why can't she give me a break?" 

He was beginning to hate these time trips. True, Glory was dead so the Slayer stood in no danger from her. He probably should have mentioned that to her but she'd gotten him brassed off at her as usual so he hadn't managed to deliver the message. He briefly considered going back to see her and then dismissed the notion. He was through being the Slayer's whipping boy. 

He ran up to a neighbor's garbage can and gave it a solid kick that flung it several feet and scattered the contents across the lawn. He paused in malicious satisfaction to appreciate the mess he'd made. Then the loud barking of the dog caused him to hurry along before anybody came out to investigate. The last thing he wanted was for Buffy to learn he'd been harassing the neighbors. 

The vampire clenched his fists in impotent rage. Even now, after he'd been thrown to the curb, he was worried about upsetting that bint. Well, if she could forget about him, he could put her out of his mind as well. The world didn't revolve around that bird no matter what high opinion she had about herself. He was going to go and get himself good and pissed. He was done with the Slayer for the night.

This wouldn't do. He was getting infuriated and distracted. He needed to steady himself if he was going to complete his damned mission and save his tender behind from demon whoredom. Spike lit a fag and drew the smoke into his lungs. He held the smoke within him for several seconds, savoring the soothing feeling, before releasing it through his nostrils and mouth. The calming effect of the smoke served to settle him somewhat. He really missed these whenever he was stuck in that hellish blank space and appreciated the chance to indulge in his favorite habit. 

Now that he was a little more composed, he realized there was a thought that had been nagging him for the last few minutes. Wasn't there something else that he was supposed to have done tonight? Shit, of course! This was the night the Niblet had snuck away from the birthday bash. If he left now, she'd be wandering around Sunnydale on her own and that was never a smart idea. Running back to the house, he snuck around to the rear and stared up at Dawn's window.

It was open but he couldn't tell if she was up there. "Dawn? Oy, Dawn? Niblet? You up there?" No answer. Right then. He climbed the tree, dropped onto the sloping roof and cautiously made his way to the window. There was nobody inside. That clinched it. She'd done a runner and was loose somewhere in Sunnydale. 

Dropping lightly back to the ground again, he lifted his head and took a deep whiff. He'd managed to track Buffy this way and he could damn well find her sister, too. He considered knocking on Buffy's door and telling her the Bit had taken off. Then he thought better of it. If he brought back the Niblet safe and sound, she'd look mightily ungrateful if she didn't let him in, wouldn't she? Grinning at the thought of worming his way back into Buffy's good graces, he took off at a lope to find the girl. Judging by the scent, she hadn't been gone long. It should be easy tracking her.

_"And down the long and silent street,_

_The dawn with silver-sandalled feet_

_Crept like a frightened girl." – Oscar (Fingal O'Flahertie Wills) Wilde, "The Harlot's House"_

Dawn knew the others were hiding things from her. They got tense and nervy whenever she walked in on them and the conversation always got cut off. That Anya was being mundo weird, even for her. Buffy wasn't being forthcoming either and it all had something to do with that fabulously dressed girl who'd shown up at the house that day. She had spooked Buffy and then she and Mom had been forced to stay in Spike's shabby crypt. Actually, the place hadn't been that bad except that she'd been forced to endure hearing Spike and her Mom babble on and on about their boring soap. What self-respecting vampire watched soap operas, anyway?

They all thought she was a stupid little kid and she hated that. She wasn't a kid and she wasn't dumb. Whatever they were hiding from her, she'd dig out the truth and she had a good feeling where to start looking. That book she'd seen Giles holding earlier today was important; she just knew it. He'd been a little too quick to hide it when she came into the Magic Box. If she could just get in there, she could read it and find out whatever it was the others were so desperate to keep from her. 

She rounded the corner and came face to face with Dreg. Dawn let out a shriek as her eyes fell on his wrinkled, grotesque features. A delighted smile lit up his face as he recognized the long-haired human. "Well, well. This is a fine stroke of luck. If it isn't the very person for whom we have all been eagerly searching."

We? Dawn looked around wildly as robed figures loomed out of the darkness around her. She opened her mouth to scream again and Gronx's hand flew out and clamped itself down remorselessly over the opened jaw. "Now, now. None of that. We don't want any company for this."

Dawn's frightened eyes darted from one hostile face to the other. This had to be because of Buffy. These creatures were going to use her as a ransom or hostage just like Harmony had done. Yes, that was it—

They didn't give her a chance to be disillusioned or offer her any other kind of a comment. With one abrupt twist, Gronx snapped her neck and let her limp body fall to the ground. A kind of shudder ran all over her as she exclaimed, "My! That felt rather—rather exciting!"

"It did?" one of the others asked. He kicked curiously at the slight human female's twisted form. "But you didn't give us a chance to do anything!" he whined.

"Yes. I thought we were going to torture the little female first." Disappointed murmurs ran through the group at being cheated of their fun and Gronx spread her hands, shrugging helplessly.

"I'm sorry. I-I don't really know what came over me. I just got so carried away with having the Slayer's pathetic little sibling in my grasp, I simply had to destroy her." Seeing the disgruntled expression in everybody's eyes, she added hastily, "You can rend the body, if you like. It will match what the Slayer did to our adored Glorificus."

They perked up at that happy suggestion. "Does anybody have a knife?" Dreg asked.

Spike jogged along the street, moving faster. He'd picked up Dawn's scent. A few minutes ago it had flared up sharply with the added taint of fear coupled with a sharp scream and he had broken into a flat-out run. Rounding the corner, he saw a bunch of Glory's minions crouched over something lying on the asphalt. They were tugging hard at it, muttering about the toughness of the skin. There was a wet, tearing sound and one of them fell back onto the pavement, clutching a long lock of brunette hair.

He knew that hair, just as he knew the smell coming from the lifeless form on the pavement. With a roar, he waded into the surprised demons, scattering them away from Dawn's corpse. He saw the wounds in the body and heard no pulse or heartbeat from her corpse. He was far too late and he knew it. But that didn't prevent him from charging like a madman at the startled beasts around him.

Spike threw powerful blows at his adversaries, hearing the satisfying smack of his fist impacting with their flesh. He couldn't save Dawn. He knew that, yet he did everything he could to get close to her, to save her sadly mutilated body. All he could think of now was removing her from these demons and returning her to the Slayer. No matter what horror had been visited on this innocent girl, he knew Buffy would want her sister back. 

But he'd been no match for Glory's followers before and now they were equally driven by grief and rage. The death of the girl had inflamed them. But it had been too hasty and had not satisfied their desire for revenge. They wished to vent their fury and exhaust their emotions until there was nothing left of them and now they had found a proper target to quench their bloodlust. Here was no soft, easily dispatched victim like the frail mortal girl at their feet. Here was someone who could fight back with ferocity to match their own. Here was a worthy opponent to kill. The blows coming from all sides felled him and someone raised a fist to strike again when Dreg called out to them. "Wait!"

"What? What is it, Dreg?" Gronx said. She sat on Spike's chest, holding him down. She was panting, her whole being trembling with excitement as she contemplated pulling this creature's eyes out. She wanted to wreak carnage and was annoyed at the delay. 

Dreg picked up the package Spike had been carrying. In the melee, the wrapping had been torn, the box battered and the gleaming dagger was exposed to the faint light from the street. "I believe this creature has brought the solution to our problem."

"He has?" Gronx peered at the weapon. "Ah, we will use this to slice and carve his miserable flesh, then."

Dreg tapped the weapon on his puckered palm and flashed another unpleasant smile. "Actually, I had a better idea."

Spike's unconscious body was trussed and gagged after the former followers of Glorificus had torn strips off their robes to serve as ropes. They tied him, not to keep him still, but merely to prevent him from running away. The Slayer's sister's body was hefted over Dreg's shoulder and they all flitted their ghostly way through Sunnydale's streets. 

The vanquished goddess never knew how resourceful and talented the minions she had selected were or how much effort they had put into making her comfortable in this contemptible mud ball the humans called home. She had never truly appreciated all that they had done in her name. But, if she could have seen them now, she would have been proud of them. 

They had learned through many months of hiding in anonymity which streets to take, which to avoid, where the best shortcuts were and how to make their way quickly and noiselessly through the alleys and numerous cemeteries of Sunnydale. They had learned how to avoid the Slayer when she made her rounds. And now they had exacted revenge for their conquered Glorificus.

The twin burdens were deposited on the Slayer's doorstep and the diseased hobbits faded into the shadows. Now that the high of battle had dissipated, many were starting to feel rather uneasy. "Do you think the Slayer will fall for our ruse?" Gronx whispered to Dreg as they fled the scene. "If she does not, she will come seeking us and her revenge will be terrible."

The other shrugged, his shoulders sagging with weariness and the encroachment of despair as he remembered the ravaged carcass still waiting for them at home. "It matters not. Soon we shall depart from this place. Let the Slayer search for us if she learns the truth. She shall not find us. Our work here is finished. We have no purpose here now that our magnificent supreme being has been taken from us. Let us go our separate ways."

Gronx nodded uncertainly. "Very well, Dreg. I-I shall miss you."

Dreg turned towards the female, seeing the tears shining in her eyes. She had not let them fall before, too swept in madness over her lost deity as she had been. Now they spilled over her face, flowing through the creased paths in her cheeks. "I shall miss you all. None more so than you, Gronx."

"How shall we dispose of Her Radiance?" one of the others asked.

Dreg struggled to come up with a solution that would be fitting. "Fire seems best."

"Yes! We shall torch the edifice where our resplendent one lived with her body in it." The others added their agreement. A flaming pyre of the goddess along with all her possessions was truly an appropriate burial for Glorificus. Once again, they praised Dreg's insight. 

Spike struggled to open his eyes. There was a lurking pain just behind his eyeballs that was warning him not to complete the attempt. But lying here was not an option, wherever here was. He had something he needed to do, no, something that he'd tried to do… What was it?

He opened his eyes and took deep lungfuls of the air although he didn't need it. The fresh air helped to clear his head somewhat. He was outside, which was good. It was still night which was even better. He sat up and wobbled to his feet, wincing as he did so. His body ached and he welcomed the sensation. It was so much better than the Waiting Room any day of the week. Even a hangover would be better than that place. But what had happened to him and why was he…where was he?

There was a scent of fresh blood nearby and his ridges formed automatically as he sniffed the air. Wait, he knew this scent and there was way too much of it to be healthy. With that realization, he swung around and saw the body crumpled on the doorstep, his dagger embedded in her heart.

There were voices raised inside the household and the next moment the door swung open. Buffy nearly tripped as she stumbled against the body of her sister. "Dawn?" she whispered. Then she looked up from the knife hilt and saw Spike standing there, blood from her dead sister staining his hands and shirt. "You."

Even if he could have mustered up swift words to exonerate himself, he wasn't able to given the soul-searing sight of Dawn's lifeless corpse and the blank fury in Buffy's eyes. She snatched up the knife and flew at him. 

More terrible than the vicious cuts she inflicted on his body was the dreadful silence in which she fought even as he halfheartedly tried to defend himself. There were no sharp quips or witty banter. She was determined to put an end to him. She couldn't hope to kill him with the knife but she seemed prepared to slice him to bloody ribbons if she could. Somehow during the fight stake she managed to get hold of a stake and the wooden point shortly found its way into his chest.

This time he made no effort to protect himself as he fell onto the unforgiving surface of the Waiting Room floor. The impact jarred him but failed to bring any corresponding pain. All at once, he wished to experience torment. Let them afflict him with unspeakable tortures. He wanted to suffer, to bleed, to burn. He couldn't take this any more—the failures, the unendurably lengthy stretch of overwhelming blankness he knew lay in front of him, the apathy of his fellow inmates, the knowledge he'd let Buffy down once again.

Spike leapt up and charged the first, largest and meanest-looking demon he saw. They sparred viciously, without mercy or quarter, until he was thrust into the Flaming Pits of Agony. He howled with demonic glee while the fire ate through his flesh to devour and char his bones.

Then he screamed as his entrails cooked and bubbled from the flames like so much sausage that had fallen off a spit into an open fire. The searing agony was nothing like the light from the pendant. Then he had been scoured clean and welcomed death as the sure end of everything. Now it was as if corrosive tar clung to his skin, dropped into his eyes and bubbled along his veins. And lying behind the piercing distress was the certain knowledge that it was forever without any chance of surcease or reprieve.

He was brought back to the Waiting Room, of course. Even the respite of pain was all too brief to bring any real solace. He wanted to be sent there and subjected to the Flaming Pits repeatedly but he knew there was no way he could endure that again. No, he would have to suffer the dreary stretch of time bleeding endlessly into a bottomless well of loneliness and despair.

Crap. The pomposity of his last thoughts was starting to sound a lot like the bloody awful poetry of his human years. It wasn't madness but it came too close for his liking.

So he began taking exercise. Push-ups, sit-ups, leg flexes—anything he could think of that would keep the insanity at bay. He succeeded in losing himself in mindless routine for quite awhile, for extended passages altogether.

But even that wasn't enough for, the moment he ceased, memories of the existence he'd lost would come rushing in to taunt him with their contrast to the emptiness of his current situation. The vampire argued, pleaded and spoke aloud with these shades, an activity he halted the first few times he caught himself doing it. After a time, he decided it simply didn't matter. A lot of these creatures turned to meaningless rambling, chattering, buzzing and cadences of what he was fairly sure was music though like none he'd ever heard. He might as well let go and join them. At least in lunacy he could keep hopelessness at bay.

After all, what was psychosis in Purgatory except another way of passing the time?

_"Whom the gods destroy, they first make mad." – Euripides, Fragment_

TBC


	7. Only the Lonely Can Ride

_"If thou be merciful,___

_Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet." – William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet_

_"Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,_

_Till of this flat a mountain you have made_

_T' o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head_

_of blue Olympus." - William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Prince of Denmark_

Spike took himself up to the desk and listened with half an ear as the guy burbled on about seeing his caseworker. At least he thought it was a guy. The three-eyed bint hadn't called him. This time he'd been summoned to one of the many windows by a squat, gelatinous looking creature that had spit bubbles coming from its mouth every time it talked.

He didn't really pay attention to its liquid pronouncements until he heard something that sounded unfamiliar. "Wait a tick. What was that about my caseworker?"

The blob's eyes or what passed for them shifted inside its greasy, shapeless mass of a head and gazed at the vampire from their watery depths. "Mr. Xorkkandeelieanderwitz is not available to work with you at this time. Your new caseworker has been briefed about the salient details of your file. NEXT!"

"Oh, no, you don't. You're not saddling me with some new guy who doesn't know what's—" His protests went unheard as the vortex opened beneath him again. He tried scrabbling for a hold on the partition in front of him. But the glass offered no purchase for his clawing fingers and the slot was too slippery. In seconds, the familiar drag from the eddy snatched him away and he was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor of the office.

The vampire jumped to his feet and looked around, ready to tear into Xork's replacement. On the surface, everything looked the same. The identical filing cabinets and cramped interior met his eyes. However, this time the desk was at more or less at chest height and the being behind it was a different person entirely. 

She was a feline, like an ocelot in appearance, only with long, tawny hair that was pinned up behind her head in a cute chignon. Fur covered every bit of skin but it lay closely on her as it would on a regular shorthaired house cat. She sat upright and typed on the keyboard with slender fingers covered by a dusky pink nail polish on her long, trim nails. A pink cashmere sweater clung enticingly to her form, curving over a pair of ripe, perky breasts. She smiled at him, exposing a gleaming set of elongated incisors. "Welcome, Mr. Speck. I'm your new caseworker, Rrrragrundalianna."

He stalked over to her, his arms crossed and a petulant scowl darkening his face. "Where's my regular bloke? He's the one who was handling my case. He knows what's the what. Where is he?"

"He went on vacation. It was well deserved and long overdue, if you ask me. Any longer on the job and he was going to come down with a serious case of employee burnout."

His lips thinned with indignation. "What the bloody—? I don't believe this! He was right in the middle of my case and he just decides to chuck it and take off on his vac? How can he do that?" He was whining but he was beyond giving a crap if he came off as childish. He'd felt abandoned on all sides since his death and now his caseworker had taken off! What kind of work ethic did these people have, anyway? They ought to be ashamed of themselves.

"He really needed the rest," Rrrragrundalianna stated in defense of her absent colleague. "I'm sure you noticed the baldness. That wasn't natural in one of his age. He was barely keeping it together what with the insomnia, back rash and foot fungus. He would have started making serious mistakes. We didn't want that and I'm sure you didn't either, Mr. Speck." She arched delicately traced eyebrows in his direction.

He paused indecisively and then dropped down into the chair. "No, guess not," he mumbled with an ill grace. "Any idea when he'll be back?"

She shrugged and the action caused her breasts to bob in an intriguing fashion, an action that would have greatly interested Spike at any other time. "Yes and no. He requested your typical two-week term of absence."

Spike perked up at that news. "That's not so bad."

"Why? Did you wish to be sent back and wait for him to return from his vacation?" Rrrragrundalianna inquired.

Fear clutched the vampire at that prospect. "No! No, I just wanted to know if he could be reached in case, uh, something went wrong, is all."

"I'm afraid he can't be reached. We're talking two weeks according to the calendar of his dimension. That can be anywhere from two years to two hundred years by other standards of measurement."

"Oh, bloody hell," Spike whispered furiously followed by several other choice and descriptive swear words. He sagged back into his chair and rubbed the heels of his palms over his eyes. "So I'm stuck with you then, am I?"

The feline appeared upset by his lack of faith in her abilities. "I'm afraid so," she responded apologetically. "But I assure you I'm fully qualified to perform in Mr. Xorkkandeelieanderwitz's absence. I've been thoroughly briefed on your case, Mr. Speck."

Briefed on his case? The wording was significant and Spike's face became smoothly noncommittal. Rrrragrundalianna's expression seemed to convey a certain hesitancy and Spike felt a kind of hope spring up inside him. However, his calm exterior completely belied his feelings.

"Say, when you say you've been briefed, what does that mean exactly? Don't you have my file up there on the screen like old Morkie did?" He waved his hand at the computer.

"Of course," she replied quickly. She was lying and he could tell it at once even if she was a different species. Here was a bit of good luck. She didn't have his disk and that meant there was a chance for him to take advantage of this situation. He was dealing with an uninformed amateur who couldn't read his thoughts. If he could pull the wool over her eyes, then he might get an extra chance of saving Sunnydale and pulling his undead arse out of the fire—literally.

Rrrragrundalianna continued, blissfully unknowing of the vampire's inner machinations. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm a little hesitant. I'm rather new at this. I usually work upstairs in the Acquisitions Department. This is the first time I've been in Depositions." She smiled apologetically and it was Spike's turn to assume an inquiring expression.

"Acquisitions? Where's that then?" he asked.

"That's where the cases first arrive, where we acquire them, so to speak. I believe you must have come from there to here, yes?" She looked at him, her eyebrows raised.

The grimace flitting over his features at the mere mention of the place spoke volumes of his abhorrence for it. "Oh, you mean the big, boring den of despair where there's nothing to do and no cable? Yeah, been there, done that." Spike said. "Thought it was called the Waiting Room, though."

"I'm sure the people there have all sorts of colorful names for it. But here we call it Acquisitions." She shuffled some papers on her lap and gave the information a swift read through. "Now I believe you're on your fourth temporal trip to save this place called…Sunnydale? Is that the correct pronunciation?"

"Yeah, that's right, luv, though I usually call it Sunnyhell," he answered smoothly. "And actually this is going to be my fourth trip back there. "

The welcoming smile she'd had on her face disappeared as she tapped the papers she'd placed on the desk. "The briefing I had indicated that you have five attempts to make and you've already made four. Therefore, this would be your final attempt to prevent the utter annihilation of this town. You have only only tries left, Mr. Speck."

He pretended to disagree. "I think you might be mistaken, luv. I know how it is when you're suddenly asked to fill in for an absentee co-worker. But I'm telling you, it's only been three trips back. I've definitely got two trips coming to me."

She leaned back in her chair. Her hesitant manner disappeared to be replaced by a brisk, businesslike, non-nonsense attitude. "Very well. I can't authorize you to go anywhere until I've checked this out with my superiors. You'll be sent back to Acquisitions until such time as this discrepancy can be cleared up." She slapped the folder shut and waved a hand at him, preparing to send him back into exile in limbo. 

Oh god, no. Not the Waiting Room again. A freezing shudder went through his entire body and he sat bolt upright in the seat. "No, hang on! You know, now that I remember, I did go four times already. I was just a bit confused and all. The trips always take so much out of me and I keep, uh, dying every time. So I thought it was my fourth go-around. Things have been so crazy I don't know if I'm coming or going. Sorry about that, luv." He smiled at her and hoped she was buying his story.

Topaz eyes flecked with purple bored into him unblinkingly. Then another knife-pointed smile graced her fuzzy face. "Very well, Mr. Speck. I'm glad we got that cleared up. So when in the timeline would you like to go this time?"

Spike didn't speak for a moment as he went over his increasingly dwindling options. "Well, the most important thing is that I keep Buffy from dying at the hands of that Glory bint. Tried killing the bitch off and all that got me was a dead sister. So maybe if I off her when her wrinkly minions ain't around, that would be the better choice."

"It sounds like an ambitious plan." Her voice was noncommittal and right away he was nervous. He hated being nervous and afraid; this place had done a great deal towards stripping away his self-confidence.

"You think you've got a better one, then?"

She raised her furry eyebrows again. "I, Mr. Speck? Not a bit. As I said, I am a trifle new to this. If you think killing someone is the best solution to this problem, then by all means, go ahead with it. However, might I be allowed to point out that you have killed people on your previous trips back in time or been in some way responsible for their deaths? In each such instance, you made things rather worse instead of better. Perhaps that is not the best way to alter the situation." 

He plopped down in the chair before her. "I'm open to suggestion, luv."

The cat revealed its fangs again. "The name is Rrrragrundalianna."

"That's a bit of a tongue twister for me. Could I shorten it to Ragu?" Spike kept his face utterly straight as he said it. He didn't want this bint to know he was insulting her until he was well away from this place.

"Ragu?" She rolled the word on her tongue as if it were catnip. He'd have sworn she was almost purring. "That sounds fine. It's rather cute, actually. I like it."

"All right. Ragu, it is then." He grinned at her, a bit of his good humor restored.

"Well, now that that's settled, perhaps you'd like to tell me where you'll be headed." She cocked her head inquiringly at him.

Spike considered his options carefully. He'd tried his first encounter with Buffy before she'd actually known him and his reputation and he still hadn't been able to come between her and Angel. Having a go at her that time at Halloween had seemed promising. She'd been so taken with him. She'd been off her chump for him, she had. Women always fancied the romantic rebel. He remembered what a sweet, helpless innocent she'd been under the effects of that spell. In her clinging vulnerability, she'd been a awful lot like Dru. It had been nice to have tenderness from her instead of blows for a change.

But it hadn't helped anyway. Maybe the problem lay in the fact that all the time jumping he'd done had been too far in the past. No matter he did, Buffy was still placed squarely in the thick of Sunnyhell trouble. No, the closer he got to her actual death, the better. That was when him and Buffy had been at their best before her passing. During this time he might be able to convince her to do something sensible.

He looked to the feline eyeing him expectantly from behind the desk. "Can you put me in the night just before that Glory finds out about the Niblet? Buffy's sister, I mean," he added, seeing her lack of comprehension of the nickname.

"Of course." Agile fingers flew over the keyboard, far faster than Xork had been able to manage. He felt the pull of the vortex and hefted a thumb at her. 

"Wish me luck, pet," he said before jumping into the whirling eddy.

"Luck, pet," she sang out and inclined her head as she watched him disappear. Then the friendly expression vanished from her face as she snorted. "Fourth time out, indeed. He must think we're idiots."

Spike strolled through the used car lot. He was buying an RV only this time around he wanted one with tinted windows. The extra expense would eat a big hole in his wallet but he would prefer the expense to getting burned if crazy Glinda the Good Witch decided to lift the shades again. 

Mr. Cotswold was a little upset. He could smell when a sale was in the air and, although this guy looked a rather seedy customer, he had had all the signs of someone willing to buy and not make too big a fuss on the details.

However, he was only willing to get the RV with the tinted windows. All of Mr. Cotswold's efforts to sell him the little "extras" had been to no avail. The man acted like he merely wanted a fast, sturdy vehicle for the weekend and didn't intend to use it again. That was odd and the salesman decided to probe his customer a little. "Planning a weekend with the wife and kids, sir?"

"Summat like that, yeah," Spike grunted. He wasn't in the mood to be chummy and he gave the tires solid kicks, listening to see they were filled up properly.

"Well, you've made an excellent choice. Sure you don't want to get something with a TV and cable? You know how kids get on long trips. You might need the entertainment set as a distraction to keep them quiet. Goodness knows, after two hours on the road with my children whining 'Are we there yet? Are we there yet?' from the back seat and I'm ready to strangle them. Not that I would, mind you. I love the little rug rats, warts and all," he joked.

"Well, if you think that's the kind of discipline your whelps need, by all means go right ahead," Spike replied. "But I just need the bare essentials, mate. Nothing fancy." 

The salesman did his best to swallow his disappointment and favored the Englishman in the leather coat with a sunny smile. He'd tried to sell the man inferior vehicles, hoping to pass them off in the dark as superior merchandise, but the guy acted like he knew what he was doing and ignored all attempts at deception. This RV with the tinted windows was the best he could manage to unload and he'd have to be satisfied with that.

Spike drove his new purchase up to Buffy's house. She'd be on patrol now but he didn't fancy driving through the streets looking for her. Besides, he wanted to surprise her with his thoughtful insight. He didn't park too closely; he couldn't risk prying eyes seeing the vehicle and figuring out what he had planned.

Buffy came striding up to the house and was almost past the RV when she felt the warning tingle that told her a vampire was near. She tensed and spun into a fighting stance as she saw the door swing open. When she saw the familiar blonde head lean out, she rolled her eyes and relaxed. "Spike. What do you think you're doing and why are you doing it in a stolen truck?"

"Can't do it outside and shock the neighbors, now can I?" He leered at her. He'd forgotten how much he missed trading barbs with her and hearing her witty comebacks and she didn't disappoint him.

"Guess you have to do something to relieve the tension since your Buffybot got scrapped." 

"Yeah, I just think of you while I'm doing it," he shot back at her. Then he called out to her as she continued walking past him. "Hang on, Slayer. There's something I want to discuss with you."

"Before or after you wash your hands, Spike?" she retorted in a dripping, saccharine tone. "Too bad Harmony isn't around to take up the slack. But I guess that's kinda what it is—slack." She flung a fleeting glance at his crotch and laughed at his stunned, embarrassed expression.

He dearly wanted to make some mention of their future liaisons and see how embarrassed she got over them. But he was here to save her so he put any further comments he had to make on the back burner. "Listen, Slayer, romantic talk aside, I really do have something to tell you." He stepped out of the RV and held the door open.

"I'd rather do it outside, if it's all the same to you, Spike," Buffy said, folding her arms.

He smirked again. "Always figured you for the outdoorsy type, Buffy." He jumped out of the RV and continued speaking, lowering his voice. "I just thought it might be a good idea to have this talk inside away from listening ears—if you get my drift."

She frowned and her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the darkness. "Why not inside the house then?"

"You barred me from the house, remember? Unless you've changed your mind about that?" he said hopefully.

Her expression went cold. "No. Really not of the changing about that, Spike, and I'm not interested in getting into a stolen truck with you."

"First off, it's an RV not a truck. Second, I didn't steal it. Bought it with my own cash, I did. Third, this concerns you and the Niblet. You both need to get out of town."

She was instantly on the alert. "What? Why? What have you heard?"

"Haven't heard nothing, pet. But that Glory's getting closer all the time. Look at what happened to poor Glinda. You want her to start going through all your friends looking for that damned Key of hers? Trust me, it's best you and the Bit got well away from this place." He stepped closer to Buffy. Her scent, tainted with concern and fear, drifted to him and he longed to put his arms around her and kiss her worries away. "You know this is the best thing to do."

Buffy wasn't willing to bail on her responsibilities on the Hellmouth just on Spike's say so. "I-I don't know, Spike. We've managed against Glory so far."

Spike shook his head in disbelief. Buffy was obviously in serious denial if she was willing to believe that. "What are you talking about, Slayer? I was tortured and Glinda got her brains sucked out of her. You want to wait until that gets done to Red? Or Dawn?"

Buffy bit her lip. Spike was right. Glory was breathing down her neck and she was crazy in the bargain. Sooner or later she was going to snap and cut a bloody path through all of her friends. She could still remember what the goddess had said after she'd met Dawn that day she'd come to Buffy's house. 

_"Ooh, I like her. She's sassy. And I'll kill her. I'll kill your mom, I'll kill your friends…and I'll make you watch when I do."_

 Buffy shivered as the flat words of the expensively dressed goddess floated through her mind. Spike was right. Time they got out of Sunnydale and hit the road. She said to him, "Can you wait 30 minutes?"

He nodded and climbed back into the RV. "Sure. What're you gonna do?" 

"I'm going to get the others up and packed. Be at the front of the house in 30 minutes." The worry in her voice and scent had disappeared. She spoke with firm decision and missed the flicker of displeasure over his face at her stated intentions.

"The others? Hell, pet, I'm thinking it'd be best if we traveled light. No need to bring your little sidekicks along," Spike responded with a frown.

"I'm not leaving them here for Glory to make them into roadkill. My friends need to be kept safe, too." Without waiting for his argument, she turned and jogged the remaining distance to her house.

It took a little longer than 30 minutes, naturally. Birds always took too long packing and now he had to wait for all four of them—the Slayer, Bit, Red and Glinda—and, of course, she had to get the Watcher, the ex-demon bint and the donut boy involved as well. Even knowing what Xork had said about their contribution to the final battle against that overdressed divinity, he still privately thought of them as only a little better than useless. Okay, Red was pretty powerful. You couldn't say otherwise about a bird who'd brought someone back from the dead. But as far as he was concerned the others were just coming along so they wouldn't wind up brain food for the queen of bad perms.

The whelp wasn't too pleased to see him but Spike decided to ignore him. There was too much at stake to bother with teasing a glorified bricklayer. He pulled away from the curb and drove off through Sunnydale. As he passed the "Welcome to Sunnydale" sign he found himself relaxing. That town was hell on all the creatures that lived there, human or otherwise. He was glad to see the back of it.

Xander was having a hard time dealing with the rocking motion of the RV. Did Spike have to hit every pothole in the road? "So…" He paused to swallow as nausea welled up. "Any idea of where we're going? Or is this just a blind leap into the unknown we're taking here?"

"Relax, whelp. I called in a favor with a mate o' mine. He's agreed to put us up for the time being. We can lay low until the mystical portents in the sky or whatnot expires. Glory loses her chance to toddle on home and we can come back and deal with her then."

"Deal with her how, Spike? Glory's kicked Buffy's ass every time they met. The only reason Buffy's actually survived their fights is usually because she runs away or Willow uses magic. If we still have to deal with her when we come back to Sunnydale, we'll wind up getting killed—or worse," Anya pointed out.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Spike tossed off in her direction.

Anya sniffed, the dismissal failing to ease her worry. "That's not a very practical plan." 

"You got a better one? Let's hear it and we'll turn this baby around." Spike glared into the rear view mirror. He couldn't be seen by the ex-demon, of course. But his angry tone needled her into saying the first thing that came into her head.

"Why don't we go to Angel? He's got resources and a place to stay and we know we can trust him. I'm sure if anybody could help us against a goddess, it's a souled vampire," Anya said, ignoring the tension that instantly filled the vehicle.

"Why the hell do you berks keep making such a big deal about a soul? You think it automatically makes somebody better or smarter than the rest of us?" Spike yelled, stung. "Just 'cause the giant poof's got a soul don't mean he's the best demon for the job. My friend—"

"Your friend is a demon?" Xander interrupted. "You didn't tell us that!"

"Oh, didn't I?" Spike shrugged. "Must have slipped my mind. Anyhow, I told you he was a mate. Think I've got many human friends, whelp?"

"Not in this van, at any rate," Xander said. He turned to Buffy and appealed to her. "Buffy, we're running from a demon goddess into the claws of a demon friend of Spike's. Can anyone say frying pan into fire?"

"If Spike says he's reliable, then he's reliable," Buffy replied. But her uncertain look belied her words, a fact Giles was swift to pick up on.

"Ah, but Spike didn't say this demon acquaintance of his was reliable, only that he was a friend who owed him a favor. Who is he, anyway, Spike? I mean, what's his name and species?" Giles inquired.

"His name's Mallbanion. We used to pal around back in the day down in Mexico. He's a Crutzer demon, part of an ancient sect that worships Quetzalcoatl."

"We're going to Mexico?" Dawn exclaimed. "Cool!"

"Sounds like a really long drive," Willow murmured. She stroked the hair of her lover. After initial restlessness, she'd managed to get the woman to take her medication and Tara had settled into an uneasy sleep, twitching and muttering from who knew what terrible nightmares.

Giles was more concerned about the other part of Spike's news. "Quetzalcoatl? The ancient feathered snake god of the Aztecs? Is your friend aware that the creature no longer exists here on earth and that all his followers have vanished?"

"All his human followers, Watcher," Spike corrected. "Many's a demon who think old Snakehead's just sleeping and he'll return to earth someday. After all, there's humans out there who still believe the earth is flat. Go figure." He shrugged as if to say he was past trying to understand people's wacky beliefs.

"I still don't see why we're trusting an anonymous person we don't know rather than the demon we do," Anya said stubbornly.

"Because getting Buffy and Deadboy together is not the best idea, Any." Xander spoke in a lowered voice. He shot a glance in Buffy's direction as he spoke.

Buffy didn't say anything—either because she didn't hear him or because she was pretending not to. She stood up and stretched, saying casually, "You know what? It's been a long day and I'm tired. I'm gonna go and lie down for a couple of hours. Call me if there's any...trouble." Then she retreated behind the drawn curtain.

Anya was less respectful of Buffy's feelings than Xander. Without lowering her voice in the slightest, she carped, "Well, I think Buffy and Angel should put aside their personal drama for the better good of the team. There are more important things at stake here. Honestly, Xander, I know you've always had a problem with Angel…"

"He's not the only one, luv. Angelus took swipes at everybody on this bus," Spike muttered. "'Cepting Glinda, you and the Bit."

Anya ignored him and continued on relentlessly. "But if you had to choose between him and some friend of Spike's, who would you pick if you were in your right mind?"

Willow added her protest to Xander's. "It's not just a question of what Xander wants, Anya. Angel ripped out Buffy's heart and it's still hard for her to see him or hear his name mentioned, which is why WE DON'T MENTION IT," she finished with emphasis, glaring at Xander. It was a glare she'd pretty much perfected ever since he'd taken up with Anya and it said, as usual, "God, how can you put up with that big mouth of hers?"

Xander groaned out, "Anya, I'm having real trouble keeping my stomach from doing the flippy floppy thing without talking about Deadboy."

Anya patted Xander, making circling motions on his back. "It's just that I don't want to be braindrained by Glory or have her do that to you, Xander. I like your brains just where they are."

"Why? He hardly ever uses them," Spike chimed in with a snicker.

"Oh really, Spike? Which one of us has a chip in his cranium because he was too dumb to avoid a bunch of military guys, huh? Raise your hand!" Xander shot back. Spike flipped him the bird and scowled when Xander called out, "Yep. It's you. Thought as much."

"Look, whelp, if you and your demon bint think this is such a bad idea, then you're free to get off the damned bus and wait for the next pickup."

"You can't throw us off!" Anya said hotly. "We have as much right to be here as you. I don't care if you did steal this truck!"

"It ain't a truck and I didn't—oh, you know what? Just forget it. You two ain't worth arguing with," Spike grumbled. "The Slayer's more important so you lot better keep it down while she's sleeping."

Xander subsided. His nausea wouldn't allow him to talk much anyway. He agreed wholeheartedly with Willow about Buffy's feelings. He hated to see Buffy in distress of any kind and Angel was the king of handing out big, heapin' spoonfuls of emotional pain. The farther away from him she stayed, the better it was for her. She'd be happy. Heck, they'd all be happy. He wasn't about to subject Buffy to that whole routine again. They were better off without the brooding wonder and they could manage just fine without him.

But he thought Anya might also have a point about preferring Angel to any friend of Spike's. It was a bad idea to trust the peroxide menace and his unknown friend. As they sped into the night with the dyed vampire at the wheel muttering under his breath about nancy boy vampires with their feeble dependence on hair products, a small voice in Xander's mind couldn't help whispering that they were all making a big mistake entrusting themselves to a soulless if chipped member of the undead.

The question proved to be a moot point as the RV shook in a violent lurch and then skidded dangerously across the road. Spike swore and spun the wheel, fighting to keep the vehicle level. The others raised their voices in panicky shouts and screams. He managed through sheer effort to bring the RV upright to the side of the road.

"What the hell just happened?" Anya demanded. "First you hit every bump in the road and now this! What kind of a driver are you?"

"Stow it, useless!" Spike snarled. "I don't know what happened. It sounded like a tire blew."

Dawn picked herself painfully from off the floor. "How could that happen? I thought this RV was brand new."

"Not 'zackly, Bit. I couldn't afford a new set of wheels so I bought this from a used car lot."

"Figures," Xander groused. He clutched his stomach and tried manfully to resist the effort to heave.

"Well, I didn't see you chipping in to help me buy this rig, so don't complain, whelp," Spike sniped back. God, everything seemed to be conspiring against him. He couldn't remember the RV blowing a tire the last time they'd hied it out of Sunnyhell. Of course, then he'd settled for a different vehicle, the one without the tinted windows. 

He hopped out of the RV, turning a deaf ear to the complaints from the people inside. He'd heard the tire blow but he still hoped that it wasn't the case. Kneeling and squinting around the vehicle, he peered at each of the tires until he found the culprit and all hope died. Yep, the tire was blown. Practically shredded, too, by the looks of it. Trust his damned luck. He was beginning to think he was cursed and simply couldn't win no matter what he did.

Anya had come out along with Xander, unwilling to wait inside. While her boyfriend stood taking deep, cleansing gulps of the night air, the ex-demon vented her grievance. "So that's it? We're stranded?" Anya said. "What do we do now?"

Willow poked her head outside the door while keeping a firm hold on Tara. "I say we hitch a ride to Los Angeles," Willow ventured. "It's not that far."

"No!" Spike and Xander yelled simultaneously. Spike continued, "There's no way we're going to the City of Poofs. For once I agree with the idiot," gesturing at Xander.

"And if you're agreeing with an idiot, what does that make you, Chips Ahoy?" Xander turned to Willow. "Wills, I thought we'd already discussed this."

"Xander, I know how you feel about Angel. But Mexico is really far away. And now we have no means of getting there," Willow pointed out to her stubborn friend. She was clutching Tara who had woken with the accident and was now crying softly to herself about the things crawling over her in the dark. Tara was always edgy nowadays since Glory had attacked her and she tended to become even more so when the lights were out. She rubbed the blonde wiccan soothingly up and down her back in an attempt to calm her.

Spike couldn't help but agree although he said nothing aloud. He only had 24 hours to complete his task and he'd already wasted four getting the damned RV and waiting for the Scoobies to get themselves in gear. The trip to Mexico would take another six hours of driving and now their only means of transportation was gone. It was unlikely anyone would come along and pick up eight hitchhikers at night and once again he wished that Buffy had followed his advice and left the others at home. He could hear murmurs from the others about trekking to Los Angeles and his jaw clenched in exasperation at the idea that he might be forced to spend quality time with his rotten Grandsire.

The others stood around loudly debating the matter. Willow, Anya and even Dawn wanted to go to Los Angeles while Xander, Giles and himself were almost equally against it. The only one remaining silent about it was Buffy. Spike looked into her face, almost stoically blank in the faint light of the stars. But with his vampire sight, he could see her perfectly. "Well, Slayer? How about it? Do we push on to Mexico?"

She avoided looking at him and sighed. "Mexico is pretty far but it's a better bet to hide there where her Gloriness can't find us." The hope he experienced as she said these words was swiftly dashed, however, when she continued, "Still, we are stranded and getting to Mexico at this time of night—pretty iffy and I don't fancy trying to make the journey on foot and in the dark. So, all things considered, I'd have to go with Los Angeles."

Spike's heart sank and he gritted out, "Fine. Shoulda known you'd go running to the king of hair gel at the first opportunity."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be childish, Spike. You had a good plan; you really did and I did agree to it. You just got a crappy deal on the van so now the plan has changed."

"Going to L.A's an even worse plan. You and Angel shouldn't be together. You know that, Buffy," he growled.

"This isn't about me and Angel and you know it, Spike." She stared at him without blinking and he was the first to look away. "This is about keeping Dawn safe. Now we're going to Los Angeles. Grow up and deal."

He shrugged irritably and swung away, his coat flapping in the wind. If they went to visit Angel, he was cutting out. He'd have done his duty and gotten Buffy away from Glory. He didn't need to stay to see her renewing her attachment to the bastard who'd run out on her and left her broken-hearted. 

He cast a glance at her face and noted the pensive expression, the softness in her eyes that showed up whenever she thought of Angel. In this time, she'd never had that tenderness for him, not once, and part of him whispered if it wouldn't be worth eternal damnation to keep things the way they were if it meant that she'd still love him as she'd pledged just before Sunnydale collapsed on him.

When a mobile trailer pulled to a stop close to them, he didn't register it for the moment, so wrapped up was he in thoughts of Buffy. Then a gray-haired old lady leaned her head out the window and called out, "Do you young people need a lift somewhere?"

He started and then raced towards her, grinning. "We sure do! Any chance you're headed to Mexico, granmum?"

She blinked in surprise. "Mexico? Dear me, no. But I can take you as far as Salina. That's where my regular house is. You're all welcome to stay there while you can make other travel arrangements."

Tara chose this moment to burst out giggling and pointed at Dawn. "Let's spin down the road and fly to the stars. Let the glowing girl point the way. Pretty, shiny energy! Meant to unlock worlds and bring out all the shiny people!"

The old woman stared at Tara. "Goodness. Is something wrong with that girl?"

"Not a thing, granmum," Spike said hastily. "We were in a bit of an accident, you see, and she bumped her head. She'll be all right once she lies down. Think you can help us with that in your big trailer home?" He smiled winningly at her and she softened.

"Oh, very well. I could never resist helping out others. The Lord tells us to be charitable. You folks just hop in." She swung open the door and the others piled eagerly into the trailer. To them, any shelter was better than tramping on the road—or camping off it. 

It was a tight squeeze but, with Spike in the front seat with the elderly woman, they managed to settle themselves more or less comfortably. She drove in silence for a few minutes and then asked the vampire, "Could I ask where you and your family are headed, young man?"

"Um, we're gonna see a friend of mine. Gonna stay with him for a bit." He was determined to give no further information. But it turned out he didn't really need to talk. The old lady was perfectly willing to chatter to him. 

"I suppose you're wondering what an old woman like me is doing driving a trailer home by herself."

"No, not real—" he replied when she interrupted him. As she began speaking, he shrank into the seat, painfully aware that this was going to be a long tale.

"You see, my husband retired four years ago and my daughter had moved away to Maryland to be with her husband. His job gave him a promotion that required him to move from California all the way to the East Coast and, being the faithful wife, she decided to follow him." She sighed. "I understand, of course. But the house was so lonely and quiet with them gone. So my husband and I decided to sell it, buy this trailer and take a long trip around the country. It was so much fun and we met so many interesting people. I can also drop in on my daughter, son-in-law and their children whenever I get up to the eastern seaboard," she babbled on. "Then he died about a year ago," she added sadly.

"Really? Shame about that," he grunted, peering out the side window in a vain attempt to distract himself.

"Yes. It was a heart attack. It was sudden and the doctors say he felt no pain. But, of course, doctors always say that, don't they? Have you ever met a doctor who told you somebody died in excruciating agony, even when they were wasting away from debilitating cancers?" He was startled to hear her cackle as she shot him a glance from narrow, shrewd eyes.

"Uh, no. Guess you're right about that," he conceded. "I think docs are just taught to lie in med school. Must come with their training."

She nodded vigorously. "Too true. Too true. Anyway, Herbert died and left me with this trailer. I got a substantial settlement in his will, enough to keep traveling and buy a second house, one small enough for just my little old self. I check into the house every now and then to pick up mail and keep in touch with the neighbors. Say, do you mind if I smoke?"

His mind had been wandering and the question took him off guard. "Whut? You want to smoke? Go ahead. Do you mind if I light up?" he asked in turn, pulling out his pack of fags.

"Not at all." She pulled out a pack of cigars and calmly lit one. 

He blinked at the display as thick clouds began filling the chamber. He'd rarely seen little old ladies like her who smoked cigars and he sniffed appreciably at the heady aroma. "Smells great, luv. Your late husband's brand?" he guessed.

She beamed. "That's entirely right. I complained about it when he was alive but I found it missed it once he'd passed on. So now I smoke them every now and again just to keep his memory alive. I know it sounds silly but, when I smell those cigars, it's like he's right here with me." She puffed contentedly on hers and then looked at the vampire. "Would you care to try one, sweetie? It would mean so much to an old lady."

He didn't care for cigars as a rule. But he loved the aroma of this one. So he took the lit stogie she handed him and drew a concentrated cloud into his lungs. His head immediately started swimming and he coughed slightly. "Whoa. Bloody hell, granmum. These cigars are powerful stuff. Sure it was the heart attack that carried off the old bloke and not smoking these things?"

She chuckled heartily at his comment. "I'm sure. The doctors were always warning him to quit but then he'd trot out the old saw about how his grandfather smoked cigars until he was ninety or some such twaddle." She snorted delicately and watched him take another, more cautious, puff.

Soon the strong odor didn't bother him as much as Spike found himself inhaling deeper and deeper lungfuls of the scented clouds. They had a strangely soothing effect and he found his eyes drifting shut. He struggled to keep his eyes open; he didn't want to drop the cigar and risk a fire. But he lost the battle to remain awake. The cigar drooped unnoticed from his slack fingers and the old lady deftly plucked it from his hand before it fell.

"That's right, dearie. You have a nice long rest. I have to have a little talk with your friends about the pretty, shiny girl back there." She continued to drive until preternaturally sharp ears told her the others in the back had fallen asleep. Then she quietly parked the car and got out.

The old lady stood in the trailer, looking over the sleeping inhabitants. The elderly woman's face became expressionless as she removed the gray wig on top of her head. Then the top of her skull began to move. With barely a sound, a thin, whiplike snake shot out of her head and opened its jaws. Angling over the sleepers, a misty substance sprayed over each and every one of them: the older gentleman, the brunette boy and the cheaply dyed blond in his arms. She marched soundlessly as a ghost to the exhausted redhead and her crazed lover. The demon froze as Tara opened her eyes and peered up at her drowsily.

"Gotta get back," Tara murmured. "Big day. Big day coming. Glory, glory, hallelujah!" She giggled and the old woman smiled indulgently at her.

"You're quite right, sweetheart. It's a big day for Glorificus. But nothing's going to happen without her Key and I need you to be quiet like a good little lamb—that's led to the slaughter." Angling towards Tara's face, the snaky appendage sprayed her and Willow and the golden-haired wiccan became still and silent, her limbs moving sluggishly in the cot.

"Don't try to struggle, sweetie. The paralysis will take hold shortly." The old woman looked her up and down, noting the blond's generous curves. "How I'd love to make a meal of you. But I'm afraid I don't have time. I still have a Slayer and a Key to deal with. Toodles!" She turned towards the division that held Buffy and her tuckered out little sister. Tara remained behind, slowly blinking in the darkness.

The first rays of dawn edged over the sleeping vampire's fingers. They began to smoke and the burning smell reached his nostrils seconds later. "SHIT!!" Spike screamed and flinched away from the reddish-gold sliver of sun on the horizon.

What had happened? Had he overslept? No, he knew whenever the dawn was coming. The only time he was caught unawares was when he'd been drinking too much and was feeling suicidal after one of Drusilla's many infidelities. But he hadn't been drinking the night before…

Then he noticed the others on the ground. They'd been dragged off the side of the road and left in various awkward poses. As he looked them over, some began stirring. Anya cuddled into Xander's arms and shivered. "Xander, honey, stop hogging the covers. My ass is cold."

Xander shuddered as well, his features twitching and his arms clenching around the yielding female form in his arms as he tried to burrow groggily into her warmth. "Mom, not now. Can't I sleep in just a little longer…?" His words trailed off and his mouth hung open, drool oozing onto Anya's hair.

Spike cast his eye around and found Buffy a little farther off. She was lying still on the ground and his eyes became riveted on her as he noted her unnaturally twisted body, the eyes blindly gazing at the sky and the utter lack of a heartbeat.

Giles groaned and rolled over. "W-what is it? Buffy?" He sat up sluggishly, wincing as his hand landed on a jaggedly edged rock. "Goodness, where are we?" He fumbled for his glasses out of his shirt pocket and stared about the landscape in bewilderment.

They were at the side of the road—how far from Sunnydale, Spike had no idea. He wanted to run to Buffy but the rising sun made it imperative that he get under some shade at once. "Giles."

Rupert Giles peered at Spike. The vampire was staring off to the side, a rigid, unfathomable look on his face. And had he just called him by his name? He couldn't recall ever hearing the vampire gracing him with anything other than one of his insulting nicknames. The Watcher followed Spike's gaze and saw Buffy's body. He staggered up and ran to her, falling to his knees as he saw the stiff posture and the open wound across her throat. "Oh god, Buffy. No, my sweet girl. No."

The sun was edging higher over the horizon but Spike was oblivious to the increasing sting. He knelt beside the Watcher and reached out to touch Buffy's face. Smoke began rising in thin tendrils from his fingers but he didn't seem to notice.

Giles however noted the vampire's condition. He looked around to the others and noted which members of their team were missing. "Spike." When the vampire didn't answer, he spoke more sharply. "Spike!"

"Wh-whut? Okay, okay, I'm up," Xander said, sitting up so abruptly he dislodged Anya, waking her as well.

"'Bout bloody time, if you ask me," Spike said without turning to look at them and then hissed as the sun got stronger. He shrank behind the tall Watcher for shelter as Giles got to his feet.

"Oh my god!" Willow screamed, startling them all. "Where's Tara?" Xander looked around and saw the other wiccan was missing as well as Buffy's little sister. 

"Giles, what's going on? Why are we out here?" Anya had gotten to her feet and walked over to the Watcher and vampire kneeling on the ground. "Buffy, is this any time to be sleeping? Honestly, for a Slayer you could be a little more alert."

"Anya, will you SHUT UP?!" Giles yelled.

The ex-demon gaped at him. "What? All right, I know you're her Watcher but you shouldn't be so indulgent. Our clothes are—"

"Do what the Watcher says, you tactless bint, and shut it," Spike growled.

She glared at the pair of them and opened her mouth to speak again when she noticed their stares. She edged around them to get a closer look at the recumbent blond and paled. "Xander! Get over here. Buffy's been killed!"

"What?" Xander ran to his girlfriend and looked in shock at the still body on the ground. Moments later they were joined by Willow and they all froze there, a still tableau of grief as they looked on their murdered friend.

"Oh no. Xander, what are we gonna do now?" Anya whispered.

"W-we have to bury her, Anya. We can't leave her like this," Xander responded uncertainly.

There wasn't shelter for several yards in any direction. Spike felt himself began to smoke as the Watcher shifted slightly and he hissed, "Will you bloody stay still? I'm starting to fry here!" 

Giles responded with faint asperity, "I can't stay here in the same spot all day, Spike. We're going to have to come up with a solution and quickly." The other Englishman called out to the others, "Do any of you see shelter where Spike can hide?"

No one responded. Then Willow began to cry softly followed by sniffling from Anya as Xander wrapped his arms around the two women. Giles spoke calmly but with steely resolve as he tried to get their attention. "Please. You must listen to me, all of you. This is a terrible tragedy. But we will soon have a greater one if we don't move. Dawn is missing and so is Tara. I can only assume that that woman or whatever she was drugged us all, killed Buffy and kidnapped those two. If she did so, there can only be one reason, one purpose."

He let a moment of silence drag by as he saw understanding and dread dawn on everybody's faces. "We need to rescue Dawn. Glory has her or will have her soon."

"Are you crazy, Giles?" Anya demanded. "Buffy was our strongest fighter. With her dead, we don't stand a chance against Glory! She'll kill us all!"

"Then we must hurry after Dawn and hope we get to her before Glory gets her hands on her," Giles responded.

"And how do you propose we do that, Giles? That supposedly nice old lady tricked us, captured Dawn and took her back to Sunnydale in her trailer. She's got who knows how much of a headstart on us and she has vehicular transportation. So this is it! Glory has Dawn, we're all doomed and it's all your fault!" she spat at Spike.

Spike glared at her. Then he snarled, "Me? How is this my fault? Are you daft, woman, or has spending time with the whelp here addled your brains?"

"You wanted to go to Mexico. I wanted to go to Los Angeles and if we'd have done that we'd have been safely with Angel. But, oh no, Spike's plan of hightailing down to Tequilaland was so much better than mine so that's where we went. And now the world's going to go to hell in a handbasket and all because you've got issues with the guy who got to Buffy first!" Anya yelled, her voice becoming higher and more hysterical with every word.

Spike's throat went dry at her choice of words. But amazingly it was Giles who came to his defense. "Anya! This isn't Spike's fault! It was a good plan. It wasn't his fault the tire blew out or that lady tricked us. You didn't sense anything wrong with her and you got in the trailer with the rest of us. So there's no point in blaming Spike for Dawn being missing unless you're willing to dole out shares of blame to everybody else—including me," he finished almost inaudibly.

He swallowed hard and squinted into the rising sun. The sky was imperceptibly lightening; soon it would be impossible for Spike to remain out of doors. "Now. We are going back to Sunnydale."

"And what do we do when we get there? We have no idea of where Dawn or Tara are," Anya pointed out.

"I can find Tara," Willow stated calmly.

Xander gaped at her. "You can? But how? I mean, all our clothes are gone and you don't have any of your witchy equipment."

Willow shook her head and sat down on the ground cross-legged. "I don't need any to find Tara. I can just sense where she is." She closed her eyes and seemed to sink into herself, ignoring Xander's further attempts to question her.

Giles nodded and shooed the brunette away from her. "Xander, let her alone. I think Willow can handle this. Once that's done, we'll hitch a ride to the nearest gas station and call for Angel. He can certainly get to Sunnydale quicker than we can and, if we tell him where Dawn is, he stands a better chance of rescuing her."

Spike started. He knew where Dawn would be. They could get there ahead of time and waylay that Glory bitch! He opened his mouth to speak to the Watcher—and nothing came out. He tried again with the exact same result.

Giles gazed in puzzlement at the vampire's strange antics. "Spike, what is it? Did you have something you wanted to say?"

The vampire growled in rage. Xork had warned him. He couldn't tell these people anything of the future. He couldn't even tell her about that sodding tower since he'd found out about it the same time as these others. It was like there was a mystical constraint on his tongue preventing him from speaking. He sagged and gazed into the ex-Watcher's eyes. "I-it's just I'm frustrated at being stuck here while you all go off to fight the good fight, is all."

He flicked him a wan smile. "It's quite all right, Spike. Maybe we'll catch up with that woman in the trailer and rescue Dawn back before we have to tangle with Glory."

"Yeah. Maybe this time I'll get lucky," Spike muttered sotto voce.

"What? What was that, Spike?" Giles asked him, a frown puckering his forehead.

"Nothing," the vampire replied heavily. "What do you want me to do while you lot are off tangling with the hellbitch?"

Giles removed his glasses and began polishing them wearily. "Spike, soon it's going to be too bright out here. We can form a makeshift shelter from some of our clothing but we can't take you with us."

"Well, if somebody gives us a ride, can't we cover Spike up?" Willow ventured.

"That's if we get a ride, Willow. We may not be able to acquire one soon enough to help him," Giles pointed out to her.

Spike continued to gaze at Buffy's body. "Watcher, I've got an idea. You lot go on—don't worry about me."

Giles peered at him. Spike's tone was curiously grim. He wondered what the vampire was planning. "Spike, we can't abandon you. Buffy wouldn't have wanted that. Besides, Glory has to wait for nightfall to-to use Dawn. That's hours from now and we could still use you. We just have to find a way to get you to Sunnydale." 

"In the meantime, what will Spike do for protection?" That came from Willow, worry for her beloved Tara dulling her normally shining green eyes.

The vampire smiled humorlessly. "I'm going to bury Buffy. Then I'll just rest in her grave until the sun sets."

"What? No, no way! That is beneath sick, Spike, even for you," Xander protested. "Giles, tell him that is a non-plan!"

"Actually, it makes a great deal of sense, Xander," Giles replied in a low murmur. "I doubt he'll do anything to the body and, if he can manage to hide her and himself so they're free from prying eyes, he can survive until nightfall."

"It's just…" Xander shuddered. "It's just so creepy. Isn't there another way? How about two graves?"

"There ain't time for that, Donut Boy. The sun's rising. One's all I'll be able to manage. Don't worry," he added. "I won't hurt her. Just make sure to cover us both up when I'm finished." The vampire had knelt down and, with his vampiric speed, had already begun to shovel out handfuls of sandy dirt from the roadside. In minutes, he'd managed to create a shallow indentation in the ground.

Xander watched him uncertainly. The image of Spike cuddling with Buffy's dead body in the ground was really repulsive and the idea seemed sacrilegious. But he really couldn't figure out any other option. 

Giles sighed into the dismal silence and said, "Now that that's settled, Anya, perhaps you could try flagging down a car. Willow, start that locator spell."

"What do you want me to do, G-man?" Xander asked.

"We should assist Spike," Giles replied. "We might not be able to do much with our bare hands but it should make the chore go faster." The brunette man nodded and they silently joined Spike at his task.

_"To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub,_

_For in that sleep of death what dreams may come_

_When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,_

_Must give us pause." – William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Prince of Denmark_

Spike heard the others leave. Even through the dirt covering him, he could make out their voices, hear the plans that they made—and the grief all too evident in their voices. There was excited chatter from Anya as she managed to get a truck to take them back to Sunnydale.

He lay there in the silent blackness and fought off incipient bouts of claustrophobia. This wasn't the first time he'd lain in a grave by any means. Now that the sun was up, maybe he could get to sleep. He took a good, deep whiff of Buffy's familiar scent. With the warmth of her body gone, the scent was dead and dry, a mere shadow of her luscious odor. But it brought with it all the memories of the few happy times he'd known with her. He nuzzled the lifeless hair and struggled to shift closer under the leather duster and piles of earth that covered them both. 

"Don't worry, luv. They'll find the Bit. I'll get there as soon as I can and we'll stop Glory. I know things look bad to you. But this time we're bringing Angel into the mix. Frankly, I don't think he'll do any better than I did but the others have faith in him." There was a short silence while he sought for the words to tell her. "I meant what I said before, Buffy. You're the one. You're the one I love."

Deep in the back of his mind lay the thought of his dismal failure. He'd tried his utmost and still lost Buffy. He could still save Sunnyhell but without her what was the point? Hadn't Xork told him that his fate and the Slayer's lay together? Even if he managed to pull a miracle out of his arse this time, the only reward he could get would be to live in a world without Buffy. 

He thought of Willow's spell. He could let her bring back Buffy and the idea was tempting. Yeah, Xork had said that the First came back because of Buffy's resurrection. But what if they took precautions this time around? What if they changed the battle plan? Instead of him wearing that soddin' necklace and going up against the First's army with nothing more than a magic axe and a pack of irritating bints, they could get in an army. Hell, he'd even stand Riley if it meant they took on those Ubervamps with a rocket launcher or two. 

The idea was an exciting one. Then he remembered. This was his last chance to save Sunnydale, his very last chance. If he failed now, he was damned and all this future planning was pointless. He gritted his jaw. He wouldn't fail. He personally was going to find Glory and her minions and make them sorry they'd ever messed with William the Bloody.

Movement wasn't really possible and after awhile he gave up the efforts. He lay still in the grave and let sleep claim him, the smell of his dear Slayer in his nostrils. 

_"Angel." Spike frowned in his sleep, ridges forming unintentionally as he heard that hated name._

_"Angel. Yes, yes. Harder. More, I want…more!" Buffy's body formed a glorious arch as she rocked over the vampire beneath her. Spike watched in shock as the woman he loved bounced on Angel's prone body. Her naked flesh glistened with sweat and broad hands cradled her back and hips as she moved in a familiar rhythm._

_"Buffy," Angel moaned. "Leannen. Love you. Oh god, just like that, baby."_

_What the hell was this? He'd had nightmares of Buffy being with Angel but none in the last year and none so graphic and detailed. He could see every pore in Buffy's skin and all the muscles shift and clench as she moved faster and faster over his Grandsire. Their voices rose, each spurring the other on to greater heights of passion. _

_"No!" he yelled and surged towards them only to drift through their bodies as if he were insubstantial. The two continued in their motions apparently insensible of his presence. He looked around the room to grab a weapon, anything to pry them apart. There was a tasteful lamp on the table. Scratch that; it was too light for his purposes. Equally decent wooden furniture abounded, most of it too heavy to be of use, and his eyes narrowed as he surveyed his surroundings, trying to ignore the moans that came from the bed._

_The place appeared to be a very well-furnished woman's bedroom. It was Buffy's style. He could even recognize the underwear scattered on the floor as being definitely the Slayer's usual style. But why would he dream about Angel and Buffy in such a place? He was sure his Grandsire had never been with Buffy in a bedroom like this._

_Finally, the ardent voices behind him were too much. He tried leaving only to discover that he couldn't travel more than a few feet from the frantic lovers. He attempted to bang his head on the table only to have his hand and head went right through it. He was apparently intangible as well as invisible and inaudible. Then he heard both voices rise to a crescendo and gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and clapping his hands over his ears._

_"God, Angel," Buffy whispered. "I-I'd almost forgotten what it was like with you."_

_"Same here, leannen," Angel replied and Spike could hear the soft smack of a kiss._

_"What does that mean—leannen?"_

_"Old Gaelic word. It means 'darling' or 'dear one,' " he replied._

_"Leannen. I like it. Can it be used for men, too?"_

_"Ah no. It's only applied towards women," Angel corrected._

_"Oh. So how do you say hot, sexy, studly male in Gaelic then?" she teased._

_A snort of laughter was her only answer. Then there were more kisses followed by breathless gasps and sighs. When it became evident they were going to start again, Spike opened his mouth and howled._

He came awake as the sun set, decades of vampiric existence telling him exactly when that fiery orb had settled beneath the horizon. He began scrabbling up through the loosely packed earth, fury and panic lending him urgency. 

What the hell had that dream been about? It had been sheer torture and he couldn't believe his mind was playing such tricks on him at a time like this. Bad enough they were getting the great poof involved, he had to have nightmares about his sex life as well? 

Spike dragged his duster up with him, shrinking in disgust as he tried to brush off the worst of the dirt. It was going to be next to impossible to get a ride looking and smelling like this. But maybe he could pretend that he'd been robbed. Or better yet, he'd just leg it to Sunnyhell. He might get in on the action sooner than the others.

He did his best to level out the hole from which he had emerged. "Don't worry yourself, Slayer. After this is all over, I'll find you and give you a proper burial. You can count on that. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll see you again." He straightened and began running off without looking back again.

In spite of stopping and holding out his thumb, no one had been willing to stop. Still, he was making good time. He could see the lights from the city limits looming just ahead of him. Then the air—curdled. There was simply no other word for it. It was as if the very fabric of the world around him was being torn and despair crashed down on him as he realized what it meant. He was too late. Doc or Glory had bled Dawn and the world was being ripped asunder as a result.

There was a sharp crack of lightning from the clear sky and a reddish seam opened up in the air beside him. An overly muscled demon with four arms stepped from the unnatural hole and let out a ululating yell as it saw him. It was soon joined by at least a dozen of its comrades and they charged at him, various weapons being brandished in their arms.

The vampire lifted his fists, a manic gleam surfacing in his eyes. "Well, I always knew I'd go out fighting. Bring it on, you ugly ponces." It was an uneven struggle but he didn't allow that to stop him. Managing to disarm one of the beasties, he turned the creature's own weapons against it and skewered him before the others managed to get so much as a blade on him. 

This was a glorious fight, one that had Spike's demon howling in glee as he slashed and cut at each of his adversaries. His face and body streaming with blood, Spike grinned furiously at the remaining fighters. "Had enough, you wankers? Or are you ready for more?"

They either lacked sense or were as stubborn as he. They charged him again and this time their numbers proved sufficient to overwhelm him. He continued stabbing away even as one spear hamstrung him, bringing him to one knee. They obviously had no idea what he was or the proper means to kill him for they continued to hack away at his body. A chance blow severed his head from his neck and the demons grunted in astonishment as their enemy's body turned to dust, scattering in the wind.

They looked around, sniffing at the mystifying variety of smells that came from this new world and then the largest of them pointed at the cars whizzing by on the highway. Scenting food and sport in equal measure, they hefted their weapons and turned as one towards the bright lights beckoning them.

_"Our very hopes belied our fears,_

_Our fears our hopes belied._

_We thought her dying when she slept._

_And sleeping when she died." – Thomas Hood, "The Death-Bed"_

TBC


	8. Spike Denied

_"For the unrepentant unabsolved dies,___

_Nor can a soul repent and will the sin_

_At once; in this a contradiction lies." – Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy "Inferno" _

When he fell onto the floor, he didn't bother to lift his head or open his eyes. What was the point? He was doomed either way. Then the last shreds of pride prodded him to stand up and face his sentence. He might not have been a man but he wasn't going to crawl or beg. No way was he meeting his damnation face down like a cringing coward. He rose and saw Xork staring at him from behind the desk. "Welcome back, Mr. Speck. Although I'm afraid it's not much of a welcome, given the circumstances."

"Well, look who decided to return from Disneyland!" Spike sneered. Why should he give a toss about this Frodo reject now? If he was damned, he might as well forget about courtesy—not that he'd ever had much to spare for the furry little runt. "Did you fill up on those sticky fruits of yours and grown an extra paunch? Hump some other little rodent like yourself? Maybe you actually made a friend and he got one of those cheap T-shirts that says 'I'm with Stupid.' " He sniggered and then laughed out loud.

Xork appeared indifferent to both Spike's bitter humor and his contempt. "Mr. Speck, I thought you'd be interested in learning what your final fate is going to be. I can always let it be a surprise. You look like the sort of person who'd appreciate surprises." He picked absently at one of his teeth and peered at the bit of foodstuff he'd managed to pry from his incisors.

Seeing that the creature wasn't rising to the bait, Spike muttered sullenly, "You already told me, remember? I get to be the whipping boy for a lot of randy demons."

"Whipping boy? Is that what they called it in your world?" Xork replied after wiping the unidentified bit of food on his fur.

"Ha bloody ha. So what's my punishment then? Let's get it over with."

Xork didn't speak for a moment. He scratched at his feet, wriggling his toes as he dug between them. Spike recalled Ragu's words about the foot fungus and smirked. He hoped the little bugger clawed his feet off. Then Xork looked up and smiled, exposing every single one of his miniature teeth, and Spike felt his stomach drop to his toes.

"You're still going to be damned for eternity. Make no mistake about that. But the folks upstairs have decided on something a little more—refined than mere physical torment." 

Spike scowled. The little bugger wasn't going to tell him what would happen and he could get stuffed if he thought Spike was going to beg for the answer. He flipped Xork the bird. "I hope all your hair falls out, you lousy, smelly, ugly little turd." He turned around and dropped his pants, mooning the little bugger.

If the insult meant anything to Xork, he didn't give any indication. He merely leaned forward and sang out, "Goodbye, Mr. Speck…and go to hell." Just then the vortex appeared, snatching Spike up, dropped trousers and all. Watching the vampire fumble for his pants as he was transported away, Xork leaned back into his chair, reaching into his drawer and pulling out the special salve he'd acquired on his sabbatical. Sighing happily as he rubbed it into his scalp, he glanced at the empty space where Spike had been and grinned. "I never get tired of saying that."

When eternity stopped whirling around him, Spike found himself in a large, brightly-lit space. The piercing light was disorienting after the darkness but he wasn't going to let that phase him. The vampire crouched, prepared to take on the first git who charged him. There might be demons here ready to pound his arse but he wasn't about to be taken without a fight. He was ready to take on each and every single one of these blokes in this…shopping mall?

He squinted, his eyes darting everywhere for threats, as people rushed past the store windows. By the looks of things, he was in one of the busier shopping centers. He couldn't tell which city he was in, though. These places all looked alike. 

"Dawn? What do you think of this one?" He'd know that voice anywhere and he froze. He slowly turned and saw a blonde vision.

Buffy was standing near a rack of short blouses, holding one up to her body for her sister's inspection. There were the shadowed depths he'd seen in her eyes in the last few years on the Hellmouth. This was the real Buffy not some substitute or the teenaged girl she'd been. He stepped closer, wondering why she didn't notice him or say anything about his sudden appearance.

Dawn skipped around the corner and he blinked in surprise. The Bit's hair was shorter and tinted with red streaks. She was wearing a short blue blouse and jeans so tight it was a wonder she could walk in them. "Hell, Buffy. What are you thinking, lettin' the brat out of the house looking like that?" Spike said to Buffy. The Slayer still didn't look towards him and he frowned at her continuing lack of attention.

He walked up to her, ready to put a hand on her shoulder, when he was stopped short as he slammed into an invisible barrier. "Ow! What the bleedin'—?" He ran his hand over it in an attempt to get a clue as to what had stopped him from touching her. It didn't feel solid and yet it wouldn't yield to his touch. He ran against it, pounded against it but it didn't budged in the slightest. "Oy, Slayer! What's going on?"

Buffy didn't look at him and Dawn ignored him as well as they discussed the various merits and demerits of the blouse. He waved his hands and yelled frantically, "Dawn! DAWN! I'm over here!" He tried approaching Dawn but he couldn't get close to her either as she leaned next to her sister.

"I don't know. You're a little old for pink, aren't you, Buffy?" Dawn said critically.

"What do you mean, old?" Buffy retorted. "I'm only 23!" Twenty-three? Spike considered. She'd been 21 on that jinxed birthday when they'd all been locked in the house by that demon bint Halfrek. They hadn't even celebrated it during Sunnyhell's final year given that they'd been fighting for their lives and things like birthday celebrations hadn't exactly been a priority. That meant that over a year had passed for Buffy and the others. 

He pushed aside his speculations to concentrate on the conversation. "Like I said. Old. Pink is for kids and teens," Dawn replied, her voice sounding insufferably smug.

"Oh, really? 'Cause I don't see too many kids these days wearing pink." Buffy's eyebrow lifted as she pointedly eyed Dawn's outfit.

"Pink is so not my color. What am I, six? Don't answer that," she warned when her older sister's mouth opened. 

"Come on, big guy. You need more color in your wardrobe and you know it," said a girl's voice. At least she sounded like a girl. That southern accent tended to infantilize a lot of women. That was Buffy's idle thought, anyway. Then she heard a familiar low tenor voice answer the woman.

"I don't know, Fred. I've been going with black for so long. It's hard to tell what looks good on me." Buffy felt her heart stop and then begin racing in her chest. She peeked over the rack and saw the man and the woman going through the men's clothing selection opposite her and her sister.

"Well, why don't we start with the basics? We'll get white, blue, green and maybe…brown?" She had tossed a few shirts into the muscular brunette's arms and held up the next one, hesitating when she saw him frown.

"No. Brown is too much like dirt." He shifted under his load and Buffy could see he already held a small assortment in his arms. 

Dawn had turned when she heard his voice and cried out, "Angel! Oh my god, I don't believe it!" Buffy hissed at her sister to come back. But Dawn ignored her to go running up to the older man standing with the startled brunette woman by his side.

"Dawn?" Angel said uncertainly. He reached out automatically to embrace her as she gave him a big hug. His eyes flew over her head and met Buffy's. The blonde woman smiled as bravely as she could and stepped out from behind the safety of circular clothing rack.

"Angel. Hi. You're looking…really good." He was, too, dressed as he was in an expensive suit and a shirt of dark wine. Well, he'd always looked good. It was just so unusual to see him in any other color than black. To see him in such a domestic activity as shopping was also of the weird and she found herself scanning the female with him.

"Angel? Who's this?" the skinny brunette woman asked. Her voice betrayed no jealousy, only avid curiosity, as she eyed the tall, longhaired girl and her blonde sister.

Angel stepped back from the clinging teenager and made the introductions. "This is Dawn. Dawn, this is Fred, one of my associates at Wolfram & Hart."

"Oh yeah. That evil lawyer company you took over and made the new home of A.I. Buffy told me. Hi, pleased to meet you," she said. Fred reached out and began shaking her hand. "This is my older sister, Buffy. In case you didn't know," she added.

Buffy wanted to smack Dawn. Couldn't she see that she didn't want to talk or meet with Angel now? But what was wrong with meeting him now? It had been over a year since Sunnydale fell and after months of awkward talks between Cleveland (home of another Hellmouth) and Los Angeles, Angel and Buffy had regained something of their old ease in conversation. There was always underlying tension but Buffy had felt herself safely separated by almost 2,000 miles so tension she could handle. Seeing Angel in person was something else. 

Fred however made distance impossible. With all her irrepressible charm, she stepped forward and shook first Dawn's hand and then Buffy's. "Wow, so you're Buffy! I remember hearing Angel talk about you. Well, actually he kinda mentioned you once that year you came back from the dead and wasn't that a weird story. Then he took off to see you and I had Cordelia fill me in on the details and I gotta say the two of you made Romeo and Juliet seem happy and well adjusted by comparison. Not that I'm saying y'all are crazy or anything it's just you have got to have one of the most difficult relationships on record. I have to admit I was itching to meet you for the longest time and when Angel went to Sunnydale to help I thought 'Here's my chance to meet the great Buffy Summers' only he came back without you and I was disappointed again but now I finally get to meet you and your sister and this is so cool!" 

Buffy and Dawn stared in stunned shock at this motormouthed brunette. Dawn was the first to recover. "God, I can't believe you said that all in one breath. She makes Willow sound like—"

"Sound like you, Angel," Buffy finished. Then she flushed and smiled feebly at her erstwhile lover.

Angel was silent for a moment. Then he smiled. And finally he laughed. Genuine laughter rolled from his lips and Fred joined him in high-pitched giggles. 

Dawn was sure her mouth was dropping all the way to the floor. "Buffy, is this really Angel or was he replaced by a pod person?"

"I-I don't know, Dawn," Buffy said uncertainly. She'd talked to Angel a lot and laughed at his wry humor. But she'd rarely been able to raise more than a chuckle out of him. What was with the wild and crazy laughing?

"Are you sure that's my Grandsire, Buffy? Maybe it's a demon in disguise," Spike muttered. Then he scanned the poofster as he considered the possibility. Of course Angel was a demon! Xork had sent him to hell. Naturally, none of these people in it could be real. That couldn't be the Bit with her dyed hair and that couldn't be Buffy trading jokes with Angel…or looking into Angel's eyes…and watching his lips as they curved…

Spike was growling to himself as he saw Angel and Buffy's gazes lock and then turn away. She was falling for the colossal sap all over again, just as she had in the past. "You can't have her, you damned ponce! She's mine! Do you hear me? She's been mine all the time you've been playing the fucking hero in L.A. Stay away from her!"

But his words fell on deaf ears as Buffy and Angel began talking again. Fred and Dawn paired off to look through more clothes, their animated female chatter ignored by the warriors of light. "So…what brings you to Cleveland?" Buffy murmured.

Angel had come here to talk to Buffy. He had wonderful news for her. But now that the moment was actually at hand, he found himself almost terrified to begin. He cleared his throat and began cautiously. "Well, something's happened to me recently, something I hadn't thought about for a really long time. I wasn't sure how it would look in a letter and I couldn't tell you on the phone. It's just too impor—"

"Buffy! How do you think I'd look in this?" Dawn held up a skimpy fishnet top with a thin underlying layer to it.

"Cheap," Buffy replied succinctly, wrinkling her nose in disapproval.

"But it costs $60! How can that be cheap?" her sister demanded.

"Sixty dollars for that?" Angel said in disbelief. "You'd think for that kind of money there'd be more of it."

"You just don't understand women's fashions," Dawn grumbled as she saw her sister's stubborn expression and put the offending garment back on the rack.

"I don't think I understand it either," Fred offered. "I mean, I know I was in a cave for five years but since when did the oldest profession become the latest fashion?"

"That's been an ongoing thing for years now," Angel said in his dry fashion. "I just don't see why it's so expensive to look so cheap." He smiled as Dawn stuck her tongue out at him.

"I don't recall your having any complaints when I dressed in short skirts," Buffy murmured. She was startled and delighted to see Angel blush. Then she blinked.

Angel was blushing? But, wait, vampires didn't blush not with all the lackage of blood circulation. And what was he doing shopping in the daylight anyway? This mall had underground parking but you couldn't get into any of the stores through it. No, you had to walk through the courtyard…with the sunlight beaming through the well-lit windows. 

"Angel?" she whispered. There was a question in her voice, one she didn't dare ask him. 

As always she seemed to pack a wealth of emotions into just his name. But he could hear wonder, uncertainty and demand in it. He caught her hand and brought it up to his cheek. "Buffy, this is what I wanted to tell you."

There was warmth underneath her trembling fingertips and she ran them over his lips to feel his breath tickling at them. Angel had often breathed in human company. He did it to make humans feel at ease not because it was a necessity for him. It was never something he did with her once she'd learned his secret. Now she could feel the puffs of heated air brushing against the skin of her palms and the delicate hairs on her wrists and arms lifted as she shivered. In spite of his heat, it was as if goose pimples were racing across her body.

"That's enough! Hands off, you ponce!" It was useless. They couldn't hear nor see him. Besides, Angel wasn't touching her. Buffy was the one with her hands all over him. How could the bitch do this when she'd pledged her love to him? Where was her damned loyalty?

"Buffy? Are you okay?" Angel was worried. Buffy's hazel eyes had lost focus and she seemed to have trouble breathing. She hadn't said anything since she'd touched him and her silence was beginning to unnerve him.

"I-I don't know what to say. H-how are you…how did this happen?" she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It was written about in a prophecy I found," he responded in a voice equally low. "It said the vampire with a soul would eventually achieve humanity. It was to be my reward for all my good deeds." She was still touching him and her nearness was scattering his thoughts, making it difficult for him to concentrate.

"Your good deeds? What about my good deeds, you wanker? Did you give up your existence to save the world? Did you get tortured by hellgods in high heels and ugly Cro-Magnon vampires? No, you sat comfy in Los Angeles and let Buffy and me take all the risks. And now you're the one getting a reward while I get this hell?!?" Spike roared. 

He charged at Angel, determined to put his hands around the wanker's neck and squeeze—only to rebound off a barrier like the one that surrounded Buffy. This time he was repelled hard enough to fly through the air and fall onto his arse. He lay there, furious, looking up as Buffy and Angel continued their conversation.

"And that's what you came here to tell me?" Buffy asked. Her voice was musing, almost absentminded, as she ran her hand in teasing, featherlight caresses over his throat, where the vein lay pulsing, down over his chest to rest over the beating heart.

"Yes. I—well, you see it's not the kind of news you give over the phone." His heart was pounding faster, both from her touch and her nearness, and he wondered why it didn't fly out of his chest.

"Uh huh. Getting that." She lifted her eyes to his. "So that's it? You gain humanity and think I'll come flying back into your arms again?"

Hurt filled the dark chocolate eyes as Spike crowed at Buffy's imminent rejection. "That's right, you berk! Think you can just come waltzing back into her life after you tore her heart out and left it bleeding on the ground? There's only one love's bitch in this tight circle and it ain't Buffy. You tell 'im, luv!"

"No, that's not it, Buffy. It's just…" He stepped away from her, the hurt in his eyes deepening to a kind of grief. "When I first learned about this prophecy six years ago—"

"You've known for six years that you might be human and you're only telling me now?!" Buffy's voice rose to a shout and Dawn and Fred stopped what they were doing to crowd closer.

"Angel's going to be human? What am I missing?" Dawn demanded as her eyes darted between the gorgeous man looking so wounded and her furious older sister.

"Was being the operative word, Dawn. Seems Angel joined the ranks of the living and came to Cleveland to tell me the news." 

"Really?" Dawn walked to Angel and touched him again on his hand. Her eyes widened as she registered the warmth of his touch. "You're human? Oh my god! How did that happen?"

"Ancient prophecies, blah blah blippity blah. You know the drill, Dawn," Buffy bit out, never taking her eyes off Angel.

"Buffy, please listen," Angel begged her.

"Oh, she's brassed off at you and no mistake, mate. Go on, Slayer. You give him what for. If this is hell, this may not be so bad after all," Spike urged.

"Talk away, Angel. It's about six years too late but better late than never," Buffy snapped.

"I couldn't tell you because the prophecy was vague and unclear," Angel began.

"That's right," Fred chimed in. "He didn't know when it might happen. The prophecies said there'd be plagues, days of darkness, apocalypses galore before the vampire with a soul got his humanity. He thought that it might not happen until after you were dead and he didn't want to get your hopes up if that was the case. He always wanted you to live a normal life which I thought was darn silly given what Cordelia told me about a Slayer's life. I figured 'Hey, she might die young which seems to be par for the course in which case you should definitely go for it.' But you know how stubborn Angel can be."

"Fred, you're not helping," Angel said, glaring at the talkative brunette.

"Oh, no. She just about sums it all up, Angel. So now that you're human and I'm still alive you've come to get the other part of your prize, is that it?" Buffy crossed her arms and waited for Angel's answer.

The vampire looked down from her face and sighed. It was interesting to watch that manly chest rise and fall as she'd never seen it do before. But Buffy quickly brought her eyes back to his when he lifted his head again. "Buffy, I hesitated to tell you for the very reason you're pointing out. I thought 'What if she doesn't want me? What if she thinks I'm being pushy thinking I can have her just because I happen to be human again?' Then I thought that I wanted you to know about this before you died—again." 

He stepped closer, yearning to touch her but wary of the anger snapping in her hazel eyes. He whispered, "I just wanted you to know and, like I said, this isn't the sort of news you give out by email."

"No. No, I guess it isn't." She still hadn't moved and the grief in Angel's eyes turned into a dull sadness. 

"Fred, maybe we should just go." He turned away from her, anguish evident in every line of his body, and Dawn glared at her older sister.

"Buffy, what's the matter with you? Are you upset at Angel for coming to tell you he's human? Okay, I know you're royally pissed he sat on this prophecy dealie for six years. But I get why he didn't come clean. Besides, you weren't exactly honest about my being a Key."

"And I remember how upset you were when you found out. Screaming Mimi Dawn strikes again," Buffy said wryly.

"Well, I was younger and you should have told me!" She looked up to see that Fred had joined Angel and was tugging ineffectually at him to return as the former vampire slowly walked away through the mall. "Anyway, is this the time for our personal drama? Your boyfriend's getting away—again."

"He's not my…" Buffy looked up to see that Dawn was right. Angel was almost at the end of the mall. He was really taking an awfully long time to leave the premises and she realized that the brunette keeping a death grip on his arm had something to do with that. Judging by the way she was gesticulating, she was obviously having as intense a conversation with Angel as Dawn was with her. 

Suddenly Buffy was walking faster and faster as she tried to hurry up with the man who had held her heart for over three years. "Angel! Angel, wait!"

The man turned and this time his face held all the utter lack of expression that she remembered from Sunnydale. Had he really been that much blanky Angel or had he adopted that look to keep from showing his pain over her? She wondered if she had hurt Angel as much as he'd hurt her and all at once she hated to see that look on his face.

At the first sign that she was running off after him, Spike had wheeled away in disgust, ready to cut out on yet another round of Buffy and Angel thrashing out their personal issues. But he found he couldn't take a step away from Buffy. Instead, he was helplessly dragged along in her wake as she ran after that stupid git. Then he banged into that invisible barrier again when she stopped. What the hell was going on?

While he tried to figure out the mystery, Buffy came to a halt in front of the oversized wanker. "Buffy." Angel didn't say anything else. He only stood there. And waited.

"Angel," she panted. She was staring at him and then a tremulous smile came over her face. "You could at least say you're happy to see me."

He smiled mischievously and murmured, "I don't know. Are you cookies yet?"

Her smile was just as teasing. "Pretty much. Wanna taste?" She giggled. She couldn't believe she was being so flirtatious with Angel—and in a public place, too.

But Angel wasn't one to back down from a challenge. He scooped up her petite form in his arms and crushed her close as he kissed her thoroughly. Buffy felt the blood mount to her head and the all too familiar ache between her legs as the kiss went on and on, grew deeper and more prolonged. Angel was bending her backward until she stood a good chance of falling on her ass if he released her suddenly. But she was past caring about a little bump on the buttocks at this point.

Spike was beside himself with impotent rage. He hurled himself at the barrier, caroming off it and yelling at Buffy, Angel, at the powers that had cursed him like this. Attempts to run away met with the same failure as before. He ran around them in a circle in a desperate go to evade the horrific sight before him—but to no avail.

"You bastards! You fucking wankers! You couldn't put me in a dimension with fire and brimstone?!? I have to spend eternity watching this?" He sagged to the floor, watching the two of them hatefully as they parted, Buffy with a brilliant shine in her eyes, her breasts heaving with the effort of catching her breath. 

"Wow. I guess that qualifies as glad to see me."

"You'd be right." He glanced around sheepishly as Fred and Dawn applauded. "I guess we made a bit of a spectacle of ourselves."

"You could say that again." She still hadn't stepped out of the circle of his embrace and made small circles on the front of his shirt. "So where do we go from here?"

"Um, I guess we should find someplace to eat. We need to talk."

She nodded uncertainly. "Talk. Yeah, we should do that. The talky thing. Because we have a lot of things…to discuss." Remembering her younger sister, she added, "We'll have to put it off for another day, though. I didn't exactly come here alone."

Dawn interrupted at this point. "Don't worry about me, Buffy. Me and Fred can ride back to my house. We'll see you later!" Dawn waved her hand in farewell and ran off with the giggling brunette.

"Oy, Slayer, you just gonna let your sister run off with some bint you just met in a mall? I don't care if she did come with the poofster; you used to have better parental skills than that. Bloody careless of you, if you ask me," Spike muttered with a scowl. With Dawn around, there had at least been a chance that Buffy would behave herself or take things slower with Angel…although that public show the two of them had put on just now didn't leave him with any great hopes of that.

Buffy stared after her fleeing sister. "Wait a minute! When did you arrange that?" There was no answer as the other women sped away from the baffled blond and her equally bemused beau. She looked back at Angel. "Boy, she's a fast mover. You get the feeling we've been set up?"

Angel was startled at the notion. "Maybe. Fred knew I was coming here to meet you. But I was also dragging my feet. On the flight over here, I kept on having second thoughts—and third and fourth ones. Then she became insistent on buying me a whole new wardrobe. She said new clothes might give me confidence. Only she was particularly bent on taking me to this mall and I don't know why."

"And Dawn kept telling me she needed a new top because she was tired of borrowing my things which was news to me. She said we had to go today and this is my favorite mall to shop, so…" She trailed off and directed a narrow glance at where her sister had gone.

"So, I think we were set up," Angel concluded.

"Oh, aren't you the swift one, Angel?" Spike scoffed. "If this is the way you run that damned firm of yours, I'm surprised you get any cases solved. I could tell the moment I saw Bit and that twig together they were cooking up something. Guess being made human really slowed you up, didn't it?"

Unheeding of his snarky comments, Angel and Buffy held hands and walked through the mall, searching for the food court. Angel ordered a chilidog with all the fixings while Buffy contented herself with a salad and a shake. She eyed the dripping concoction Angel shoveled into his mouth. "Angel, slow down. You're going to choke to death…or give yourself a coronary. Do you have any ideas how many calories of fat are in those?"

"Lighten up, Buffy. Life is too short to restrict yourself." He winked at her surprise and took another hearty bite. He moaned in sheer delight as he chewed. "God, I love food. I've been spending the last three months sampling foodstuffs. Yesterday, I had a hamburger with jalapenos…"

"You've been human for three months? Why did you wait to tell me sooner?" Buffy interrupted, shock and hurt evident in her tone. 

He stopped chewing and hastily swallowed. "Buffy, I told you. I kept wondering how you'd feel. I couldn't just rush to you and present my humanity as if it were some sort of gift…"

"Okay, Angel, I get it. Actually, I'm surprised it was only three months. I'm wondering why you didn't wait longer." She shifted on the hard seat and picked morosely at her salad.

"I would have." Sensing her anger, he added, "Three months seemed too short a period of adjustment for me. But I wouldn't talk about you and Cordelia realized that it was avoidance and she kept nagging at me. You know how she is." He finished with a smiling shrug and she smiled in return. 

"Yeah. I still remember how she kept pestering me to go that frat boy party with her. One of the worst mistakes in my life."

Angel thought back. "That the one where they were going to feed you to that giant snake demon. What was his name? Machida?"

"That's the one. Not that I needed much persuading. I was really feeling the pressure from Mom to be Normal Girl and Giles to be Slayer Gal and you weren't biting—I don't mean in a literal way, I just mean you were being Distancy Angel—so I figured why not? It'd be nice to cut loose and be with guys who wanted me for being, well, me. Turns out that was exactly what they were looking for only not in a nice way." She grimaced and munched angrily on her lettuce and tomato as if the memory still pissed her off after all these years. 

"You were going to get sacrificed to a snake god? What is it with you and giant snakes, Buffy?" Spike asked. "And where was I when this was going down?"

Angel reached across the table and lightly stroked the hand lying on it. Spike growled at the display and his growls got louder as Buffy's fingers curled around Angel's. "I'm sorry you were feeling neglected. I wasn't sure what I was feeling and I didn't want to hold you back from enjoying human life with human people."

"So, if you were still a vampire, you'd keep away because life with me would be so impossible?" She leaned back, frowning a little as she considered the question.

"Nooo, not necessarily," he ventured. "I get along a lot better with humans now than I did back then. It was just you were still cookie dough…"

"Right. All that baking I needed to do," Buffy replied.

Spike stared at the two of them. What in hell were they talking about? Was this some sort of simpering lovers' talk he just didn't get? When had they discussed Buffy as pastry, anyways? "Have the two of you gone completely nutters? How much longer do I have to listen to this crap? Buffy, tell this git to push off!"

Getting rid of Angel appeared to be the last thing on Buffy's mind. She and the walking billboard sign continued talking, hogging the table, remaining deep in conversation. Angel's chair inched imperceptibly closer to Buffy's until they were touching and his hands clasped hers and didn't let go. 

Spike found his inability to touch Angel or Buffy was only limited to them. People kept on passing through him, their movements unwelcome distractions from the emotional drama unfolding before him. He didn't want to watch Buffy with Angel. But he had no choice. Eventually getting tired of having people drift through his person as if he wasn't there, he moved to the side and gingerly sat on a chair that had been left out. He didn't pass through it and he sighed in relief.

Buffy and Angel continued to talk about nothing in particular and everything that had meaning to them. Angel told her about the latest information on his teenaged son, a subject that had Spike taking particular interest. He was sure that Buffy would be pretty brassed off about hearing that. But the Slayer took it in her stride. The story about this mystical child, whoever he was, seemed old news to her. Shit, where was the bird's pride? 

Then she mentioned Spike and the vampire leaned forward, greedy eyes trained on Angel. Let's see what nancy boy had to say about his little sessions with Buffy. He doubted Angel would be so forgiving.

"I didn't love him, you know that, right?" she asked, watching Angel anxiously. 

"I know. You told me on the phone…lots of times."

Spike gaped at Buffy, pain filling his blue eyes. "You told him that? How could you? That's a flamin' lie and you know it! You said you loved me at the end. I was there!"

The former souled vampire stared deeply into Buffy's eyes, trying to plumb her emotions. She had never before told him exactly what had transpired between her and Spike in the last few moments of Sunnydale's collapse. Angel didn't speak. He only sat silently and waited for her to continue.

Angel was always reticent on the topic of Spike. She hadn't been sure whether he was disgusted with Spike or her when he withdrew. It was only by voicing her fears and getting plenty of reassurances from him that she became convinced that he never blamed her.

She took a deep breath and continued, her voice bemused as she put her feelings into words. "The funny thing was, he knew it. He said I didn't love him even though I told him I did. You know, I think he was right. I didn't love him. I thought I did. After spending so much time with him and feeling so guilty for what I did to him and what he went through…"

"What _you_ did to him, Buffy?" Angel frowned. Buffy had finally given him some of the sordid details of her sexual bouts with Spike. It had taken months for her to trust him with that much and he'd never pushed her. Still he thought it was a good thing his Grandchilde was dead. There was no telling what he'd have done if he could have gotten hold of Spike.

"Yes, Angel. I told you how bad things were for me back then. I-I used him. It was wrong and selfish. He never complained because it was close to what he wanted but that's what I did. Then, when I got tired of him, I dumped him. Pretty crappy behavior by anybody's standards. So when he came back, soul in hand, I felt sorry for him." 

Spike growled at hearing that he'd been an object of pity. "There was more to us than that, Slayer, and you know it. What was that last night about when you slept in my arms, eh? Remember that?"

Buffy continued in a musing tone. "I tried to help him get back on his feet, redeem himself and when I saw him dying I wanted to tell him I was grateful, that I was sorry, that I didn't want him to die after everything he'd been through. But there wasn't time for that so I just coughed up 'I love you.' "  She shrugged helplessly. "Do you understand?"

"I think so. He was dying and you wanted to give him something—and you thought that would be what he wanted to hear." He could only admire her for her desire to help a former enemy. There had been something like kindness between him and Darla in the brief hours she'd been human coupled with the strong desire to aid her when he'd learned she was dying. Who knows? If she had lived longer as a human, there might have been more between them—maybe even love. 

Would he have had Connor by Darla had she stayed human? No, the syphilis killing her would have put her in the grave long before any child could have been born. Perhaps, then, there had been a grand plan in ridding her of her humanity. He remembered her sacrifice so their child could be brought into the world and her desire that he tell Connor how he was the only good thing they'd ever done together. But he'd never been able to tell the hostile teenager anything about his mother. There hadn't even been time to tell Darla goodbye.

Thinking of his Sire's final moments brought a sting of regret. At least Buffy would never know that sting and he envied the generosity of her heart that had allowed her to throw Spike that scrap of comfort.

Buffy appeared to think over his last words and then she sighed. "Yeah, I guess it was the excitement of battle. I didn't really love Spike—unless it was like how I love Xander or Willow."

The redhead's name brought a smile to Angel's face. "And how is Willow? She still practicing magic?"

"There's no practicing about it. She's definitely gone pro," Buffy quipped.

Angel quirked an eyebrow. "Does that mean she's charging for it?"

Buffy snorted and then giggled. She decided she liked the new Angel. Of course, she'd been sensing the changes in him all during the year when they'd kept in touch via email, snail mail and phone. In spite of a wealth of communication they never ran out of things to say to each other and he never stopped surprising her. She guessed that was one of the things she loved about him.

The thought drew her up short and had the effect of quelling her laughter. She loved Angel? Well, of course she did. She thought her old feelings for him were long gone. But that kiss they'd just shared had sent the flames shooting through her. It was as good—better even—than any they'd shared in Sunnydale. But without the previous kisses, she couldn't have known this one.

The color of her eyes flickered and changed like the color of waves at the sea when the weather shifted. Angel watched the emotions flitting across her face and wondered what she was thinking. "Buffy?" he murmured.

Her answer was quick as she snapped out of her introspection. "What?"

"What were you thinking? You were a million miles away."

"No, only 2,000." At his quizzical expression, she elaborated. "I was just thinking how the first and last kisses I ever had in Sunnydale I gave to the same man."

"That's not true, Slayer!" Spike protested hotly. "You and me spent that night together…" Then he paused. Buffy hadn't actually kissed him. She'd only lain in his arms and then drifted off to sleep. Still, it was more than Mr. Hair Gel got to share with her. Why should Buffy make such a big deal out of a couple of kisses?

Angel thought that over and a smile spread over his face. "Really?"

Buffy nodded. "Really and truly." She clasped his hand a little tighter. She'd been holding it all this time, reveling in its heat. She couldn't seem to stop stroking and touching him, caught up again and again in his newfound humanity. She studied his face as he licked the last of his meal from his lips and saw the dreamy enjoyment settle on his features again.

"Can I have some more then?" Angel whispered. Buffy proceeded to do just that.

They stayed there, talking in a distracted fashion about the future. Thanks to Willow's spell, Buffy was no longer the only Slayer in the world. There were four other girls holding down the fort on the Cleveland Hellmouth. But she'd created a kind of life there. She'd gone back to college and Dawn had returned to classes as well. In fact, her sister had been talking more and more about getting a dorm room. She'd move out and Buffy would be alone. The little blond wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"…I'll be like Mom when I left for college which makes sense 'cause everybody kept mistaking me for Dawn's mom when I brought her to school that first day which was so uncool," she rambled, grimacing at the memory.

"I can see why they'd think that," Angel replied.

She pouted, a dangerous glint in her eye. "Are you saying I look old? Or momish?"

"I'm saying you look like your mom. You remind me a little of Joyce: her eyes, her mannerisms, things like that."

A slight cloud settled on Buffy's face. "I miss her sometimes, Angel. Everything I had of her—photos, keepsakes, old recipe books, even her grave—is gone along with the rest of Sunnydale."

"I remember Joyce, Slayer. She was one stand-up lady. I miss her, too. 'Specially those cups of hot chocolate she'd make," Spike chimed in. He smiled as he recalled the older Summers woman. But his musings were ruined when Angel interrupted with his own observations.

"I know what that's like," he said softly. "Everything about my family's gone, too—and I'm the one who made them disappear."

There it was, the familiar Angel gloom and guilt. As Buffy reached to comfort him, Spike snorted in contempt. "Big boo hoo, poof. I killed what was left of my family. See me shedding tears over it? I had my big epiphany over my mum's death when that wanker Wood was smacking me around and I moved on. Why the hell you keep flattening Buffy with your 'poor little me' act? It's getting old!"

Buffy hated seeing Angel like this. Casting about in her mind for a means of cheering him up, she asked, "But your home's still there, right? Somewhere in Ireland?"

His eyebrows shot up. "After 250 years?"

"Not the house, of course. I mean, the general spot, village, town, whatever. Think we could visit it sometime?"

"We?" Angel asked.

"We?" Spike parroted, his voice shooting up an octave.

She stammered, "Well, yeah. We. I-if you want to be with me, I thought we could take trips together. Dawn and me still want to see the world. Now you're human, maybe you could come along since that pesky sun is no longer a burning issue for you." She smiled at her own joke.

Angel was stunned. See Ireland with Buffy? He could imagine taking her to see all the most beautiful spots of his world—it would be new to them both since he hadn't been there in awhile. He'd tried his hardest to bury his past for so long—both after he'd lost his soul and when he'd regained it. To visit Ireland again would be a wondrous trip for him and Buffy.

Buffy waved her hand in front of Angel. He'd been strangely silent after she'd proposed traveling together and she wondered if she'd jumped the gun a little. "Angel? Are you in there? We don't have to go to Ireland if you don't want. I hear Italy's lovely this time of year. Or Cancun? Fun in the sun, surf and turf."

A wide grin beamed from his face and he kissed her lightly to stop her chatter. "Ireland's fine, Buffy. I just didn't want to rush you into a plan as decisive as traveling together when we haven't even decided where we're going to live."

"Where we're going to live?" Buffy squeaked. "As in we?"

"Again with the we! Christ, Slayer, don't you think he's rushin' it a bit?" Spike groused.

Angel slumped, depression returning as he considered the difficulties. "You think it's too soon."

Buffy licked her lips nervously, pulled her hands from his and resumed picking at her salad. "Yes. No. I'm not sure." She lifted her eyes to his, searching for answers. "I've known and loved you for years and I had a zillion fantasies about the life we'd make together if you ever became human. And now it's happened after we've spent a year talking so it hardly feels rushed. But we live almost 2,000 miles apart. How would we manage? It'd still be complicated."

The depression in his dark eyes had vanished; his face had resumed its well-known blankness. "Too complicated?"

"No," she replied hurriedly. "I said complicated. Not impossible." She reached for his hand again. "Look at you. One moment vamp, the next among the living. Proof positive that anything's possible."

He smiled again. Smiling did such nifty things to Angel's face. She could learn to love them: the way they made his eyes light up and his teeth gleam. "So we could find a way—" he ventured.

"We could commute," she responded.

"Take our trips during your summer vacation."

"Or spring break," she amended.

"The others could handle my cases."

"Those girls could take turns on Hellmouth duty."

Spike couldn't stand it. He'd gotten up and begun pacing within his invisible circular prison, talking wildly to drown out their voices—anything to distract him from the sickening display taking place only a few feet away. This was disgusting! When were they going to quit?

When a voice came over the PA system warning that the mall was about to close, the lovebirds started and looked at the windows. Evening had fallen and the stars were just beginning to come out. They had been there for hours without realizing it. Paying for their food, Buffy and Angel left the mall, hand in hand.

Spike slumped sullenly in the back of Angel's car. Angel tended to keep quiet while he drove, mindful of traffic around him and any potential damage to his precious wheels. Now he couldn't help trading glances and conversation with the animated blond beside him.

Buffy hadn't been this happy in a long time. She'd thought she had regained a measure of peace after leaving Sunnydale for good. But the joy she was experiencing now made the last year pale by comparison. So caught up was she in chatting with angel, staring at his face of touching his hand at every stoplight that it didn't register when the car stopped.

"Buffy?"

"Hmmm?" She blinked as she caught his amused stare.

"This is your house, isn't it?"

"Oh. Yeah. This is it. This is me," she babbled. "I-I should be going. I'll see you soon, okay?" But somehow she couldn't bring herself to move. When his face inched towards hers, she didn't draw back.

Spike cringed as the tentative kiss turned passionate, their hands clutching and groping at each other. It wasn't until Buffy was reclining on the seat, her skirt riding up her legs, that she recalled they weren't actually in a private place. "Angel, we should stop," she gasped as their lips parted.

"What? Yes, that would be…good." Actually, parts of his anatomy were protesting otherwise, the hardened bulge painfully constricted by his pants.

Buffy gulped as she felt his length digging into her thigh. In spite of common sense telling her that it was too soon and that they should wait, she blurted out, "I didn't mean stopping. I just meant stopping here. Kinda lacking in the privacy, Angel. Not to mention comfort," she added as she shifted on the seat.

He paused minutely. Then he opened both car doors and had her outside so quickly, she was stunned. She was pressed up against the side of the car while Angel kissed her fiercely almost before she was aware of his movement. Fleetingly she wondered if he still didn't possess vampire speed. Then his tongue pushed past her lips and she stopped caring about it.

_"Then late one night,_

_toward the end of the summer,_

_he appeared in my room._

_Perhaps that's why_

_I've always considered him_

_an angel: silent, innocent, pale_

_even in the dark._

_He undressed_

_and pulled back the sheet,_

_slid next to me._

_His fingers felt for my lips." – David Trinidad, "The Boy"_

One way or another, they fumbled their way up the drive and into her house although she couldn't remember how she managed to get the key into the lock and kick the door shut. Buffy wanted to tell Angel to stop. Well, really, no she didn't and when one large knowing hand swept up her ribs to caress and then squeeze the diamond-tipped center of her breast, she mewled and arched into his palms.

Angel's hands were all over her, touching her just the way she liked to be touched. Familiarity and urgency lent an added frenzy to their movements and thoughts of caution were thrown to the winds.

"Are you daft, Slayer? A few hours talking with this berk and you're leaping into bed with him again? What if this ain't Angel? What if it's some demon in disguise? Call your sister! Call those bastards at that law firm! Use your damn head, Buffy, not what's between your legs!"

He looked away from the pair moving sensually together, powerless anger racing through his body. His eyes narrowed reflexively as the light was switched on and then he froze. He recognized this room—the lamp on the table, the heavy wooden furniture, the underwear being scattered on the floor. This was the room he'd seen in his dream while he lay in a grave built for two. "Oh no," he whispered in horror.

As the naked pair on the bed began to rock together, all too familiar phrases spilling from their lips, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut and crouched as far from them as his unseen prison walls permitted. He understood the nature of his punishment now. He was doomed to spend his existence watching and listening as the woman he loved gave herself freely to his rival. 

But it couldn't be forever, could it? Buffy was mortal and now Angel was, too. Sooner or later, both of them would die and then he'd be free of this torment. A spiteful voice whispered that the powers that handled such things weren't that stupid; they would have foreseen such an obvious loophole and found a way to circumvent it. The sounds from the bed grew fevered, high pitched and powerful, and he bit his lips until the blood ran down his chin.

As time marched on inexorably, Spike figured out the boundaries of his prison. He was confined to a narrow circular corridor that allowed him no closer to her than three feet and extended past her body by about ten. And so it was that he was forced along with Buffy as she traveled with the grand poof through all the tourist traps of Europe and beyond. In all that time, he couldn't find relief in sleeping, eating or drinking. He saw no other ghosts—if that's what he was—while he was with them. Save for the humans ignorant of his presence there was no contact of any kind. 

There was not even the refuge of madness. His mind stayed irritatingly intact the entire time while he listened to the chatter of her friends as they teased her about her long nights with Angel, discussed the occasional apocalypse looming on the horizon and made plans for their respective futures. At first, he kept up a running commentary on everything he hated about them, making fun of their clothes, music choices, tastes in food, etc. But since they couldn't hear or see him, even that palled after awhile and, except for the sporadic remark, he began to lapse into a dismal silence.

He stood numbly as Buffy marched down the aisle with Angel after more than a year of shagging and traipsing around the world. He stared out the hospital windows as she delivered the first of what would turn out to be six children. Who knew the Slayer had such a maternal streak? And not one of the brats were named after him, an additional insult heaped atop all the others.

As the Slayer descended into old age along with her spouse, he'd thought his desire and love for her would lessen along with her beauty. But, no, no matter how many other women loomed into the picture, his yen for her remained as fierce and aching as when he'd first known he was in love with her. It was as if the undiminished love was also a part of his sentence.

When she lay dying at last, surrounded by her friends, children and grandchildren, he couldn't help the hope that here at last was a reprieve from his penalty. With Buffy's death he would at last know peace. 

She slipped from this world, tears dropping from her husband's blurred eyes, and Spike actually saw her spirit leave her body. For a moment, he cherished the possibility that she might see him now when she hadn't been able to during her time with Angel. But the bright cloud that lifted from her body appeared to remain insensible to him.

He was pulled into the vortex again and this time he was not alone. Together with the luminous spirit that was Buffy Summers, he was hurtled to his unknown destination. 

Where was this place? There was a woman in the throes of labor lying on a cheap mattress while another woman was exhorting her to push. The pregnant woman was screaming obscenities at the top of her lungs while trying to bring her new life into this world. Spike watched in shock as the midwife gently pulled a squalling bundle from between her mother's legs. "There you are, Amelia. It's a beautiful baby girl."

The exhausted woman on the bed lay back, sweat pouring from her body to soak the sheets. "A girl. Thank god. I couldn't stand it if it'd been a boy. Probably grow up to be exactly like his stinking loser of a dad." She lifted her head with difficulty. "Can I hold her now?"

The woman briskly cleaning off the infant nodded. "Sure." She placed her in her mother's arms and smiled on the sight as the mother brought the baby to her nipple. "Any thoughts on what you're going to name her?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Man, right now I'm so tired my eyeballs hurt. I'm too pooped to hold a complicated thought like naming a baby." She paused a moment, her face softening while she looked at the red-faced little girl. "She's a strong one, you know? Whenever I stroked my stomach too hard, she kept kicking back like she wanted a fight. Guess I should give her a fighting name, huh?"

"Like what? Xena?"

The woman on the bed chuckled a little and then winced as if even the effort of laughing was painful. "Cute. I was thinking more like Eliza. It was my mother's name. She'd have liked the baby to have some part of her. God knows, she's not getting anything from the father." She talked to the infant as if trying to teach her a lesson. "Honey, never give your love to the first idiot who comes down the pike. Save yourself for somebody who's gonna treat you right. And if he gives you problems, kick him in his damned nuts."

"Amelia!" The midwife pretended to be shocked but she laughed heartily, approving of her patient's tough attitude. This woman was going to be okay and she'd see to it that her daughter was, too.

Curious in spite of himself, Spike drifted over to the baby and peered into its face. As if feeling his scrutiny, the baby opened her eyes and seemed to stare right into his. The former vampire gazed straight into the startling hazel orbs and realized the true quality of his damnation.

"Oh, shit! You bloody lousy rotten ponces!" Futile curses sprang from his lips as he ran and slammed into the barrier—the one pinning him to the new life cradled in her mother's arms. He rammed his fists repeatedly into the obstruction until he lost the will to continue. Then the vampire slumped to the floor, hung his head and wept like a child.

_"The wretch, concentred all in self,_

_Living, shall forfeit fair renown,_

_And doubly dying, shall go down_

_To the vile dust from whence he sprung,_

_Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung." – Sir Walter Scott, "Lay of the Last Minstrel"_

Finis

_"This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force." – Dorothy Parker_


	9. Epilogue

_"My object all sublime_

_I shall achieve in time—_

_To let the punishment fit the crime—_

_The punishment fit the crime."_ – William Schwenk Gilbert, The Mikado

Xorkkandeelieanderwitz and Rrrragrundalianna looked through the portal at the weeping vampire. Turning towards each other, their bodies flickered and became that of two figures with shimmering silver and gold skin and bluish tattoos. If Angel could have seen them, he would have recognized the brother and sister team of the Oracles.

The male spoke first. "So, sister, do you think this a suitable sentence for this vampire?"

"I do. As you told him in one of your encounters, his fate is tied to that of the Slayer. You told him the truth. It is not your fault he chose to misinterpret that as a sign of possible romance between himself and her." She gave a sly smile even though it met with no corresponding emotion from her brother.

Instead he frowned and tilted his head slightly. "How did you know he would not welcome this sentence? See it as a blessing rather than a curse to be near someone he adored to the point of distraction?"

"To look on his so-called beloved and see her rapture in the arms of another would be an agony to him. It would likewise prove a curse to one of his monstrous ego to have no one speak of him or say his name. Now, wherever her spirit flies through all her many lives, down the unimaginable halls of the future, it shall meet that of her champion—and this one will be forced to endure the sight of their re-unions over and over again," she concluded, satisfaction evident in her voice.

He nodded, pleased with his sister's reasoning. "Indeed, this is far better than any physical torments that could have been devised."

They watched Amelia suckle Eliza while the vampire gazed on the mortal pair with dull eyes. Then the female waved her hand at the milky circle and it winked shut returning to its usual blankness. Speaking almost casually to her brother, she asked, "Should we turn our attentions to the fate of Alexander Lavelle Harris now?"

A faint smile, the closest her brother ever came to expressing happy emotions, flashed across his face. "Yes. The Powers have great plans for him in his next life. We must guide the course of events so he finds the Slayer and her Champion."

The female felt a tremor of something like excitement. It was always a glorious thing when she and her brother moved in synchronous harmony. She could swear she could almost feel the universe shifting into alignment with them as they worked together. Moving from the unlit portal, they bent their heads together and winked out of the space. 

_"There needeth not the hell that bigots frame_

_To punish those who err: Earth in itself_

_Contains at once the evil and the cure."_ – Percy Bysshe Shelley, Queen Mab


End file.
